GIFT   OF 
MICHAEL  REESE 


, 


/ 


* 


rfi — n — n — 


REESE  LIBRARY 

OI     Mil 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

CASE 

v,> 


REESE 


JIs  it  (Uas  in  Cbe  Beginning. 


A  POEM 

BY 

JOAQUIN  MILLER 


DEDICATED  TO 

THE 
MOTHERS  OF  MEN. 


REESt 


Copyright,  1903, 
In  United  States  and  Great  Britain 

by 
JOAQUIN  MILLER. 


153 

rf 


AS  IT  WAS  IN  THE  BEGINNING. 


CANTO  I. 

"  In  the  beginning  God  created  the  heaven  and  the  earth. 

'  'And  the  earth  was  without  form  and  void ;  and  darkness 
was  upon  the  face  of  the  deep.  And  the  Spirit  of  God  moved 
upon  the  face  of  the  waters. 

"  And  God  said,  let  there  be  light :  and  there  was  light." 


I 

They  sat  the  sundown  bank  beside, 
Beyond  the  rock-locked  Gate  of  Gold  * 
So  like  that  Golden  Horn  of  old 
When  Sappho  sang  and  Phaon  plied 
And  silent  watched  the  waning  sun. 
Ten  thousand  miles  of  mobile  sea  — 
This  sea  of  all  seas  blent  as  one 
Wide,  unbound  book  of  mystery, 
Of  "awe,  of  sibyl  prophecy, 
Ere  yet  a  ghost  or  misty  ken 
Of  God's  far  first  beginning  when 
Vast  darkness  lay  upon  the  deep, 
And  when  God's  spirit  moved  upon 
Such  waters  cradled  in  such  sleep  — 
Such  night  as  never  yet  knew  dawn, 
Such  night  as  wierd  atallaph  weaves 
But  never  mortal  man  conceives. 

II 

He  said  —  his  face  was  leaned  to  hers, 
As  warmest  of  all  worshippers  :  — 
1 '  In  the  beginning  ?     Where  and  when, 
Before  the  fashioning  of  men 
Swung  first  His  high  lamp  to  and  fro, 
To  light  us  as  we  please  to  go  ? 
And  where  the  waters,  dark  deeps  when 
God  spake  and  said,  '  Let  there  be  light '  ? 

3 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

They  still  house  where  they  housed,  as  then 
Dark  curtained  with  majestic  night  — 
Dusk  Silence  in  travail  of  light 
That  knew  not  man  or  man's,  at  all  — 
Black  battle-ship  or  steel-built  wall. 

Ill 

"  Aye,  these,  these  were  the  waters  when 
God  spake  and  knew  His  white  first-born, 
That  far,  first,  new-born  baby  morn, 
Such  eons  ere  the  noise  of  men. 
Yon  Southern  Cross,  high-built  about 
The  deep,  set  in  a  town  of  stars, 
Commemorates,  forbids  a  doubt 
That  here  first  fell  God's  golden  bars  — 
Red  bars,  with  soft,  white  silver  blent, 
Broad  sown  from  sapphire  firmament. 

IV 

' '  Behold  what  wave-lights  leap  and  run 
Swift  up  the  shale  from  out  the  sea  ! 
Inwove  with  silver,  golden  sun 
Light  lingers  in  the  tawny  mane 
Of  wild  oats  waving  lazily 
Far  up  the  climbing  poppy  b  plain, 
Far  up  yon  steeps  of  dusk  and  dawn  — 

.  Black  night,  white  light,  inwound  as  one. 
But  when,  when  fell  that  far,  first  dawn 
With  ways  of  gold  to  walk  upon  ? 


I  know  not  when,  but  only  know 
That  darkness  lay  upon  yon  deep, 
Lay  cradled,  as  a  child  asleep, 
And  that  God's  spirit  moved  upon 
These  waters  ere  the  burst  of  dawn 
When  first  His  high  -lamps  to  and  fro 
Shone  forth  to  guide  which  way  to  go. 

4 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 
VI 

'  *  I  only  know  that  Silence  keeps 
High  court  forever  still  hereon, 
That  Silence  lords  alone  these  deeps, 
The  silence  of  God's  house  and  keeps 
Inviolate  yon  water's  face, 
As  if  still  His  abiding  place, 
As  ere  that  far,  first  burst  of  dawn 
Ere  fretful  man  set  sail  upon. 

VII 

1  The  deeps,"  he  mused,  "  are  still  as  when 
Dusk  Silence  kept  her  curtained  bed 
Low  moaning  for  the  birth  of  dawn, 
When  she  should  push  that  night  aside, 
As  some  dread  nightmare  most  abhorred  — 
When  she  might  laughing  look  upon 
God's  first-born  glory,  holy  Light, 
As  when  fond  Eve,  exulting  cried, 
In  mother-pain,  with  mother-pride, 

*  Behold  the  fair  first-born  of  men, 
Behold  a  man-child  of  the  Lord  ! 
I  gat  a  man-child  of  the  Lord  ! ' 

VIII 

( *  Aye,  Silence  seems  some  maid  at  prayer, 
God's  arm  about  her  when  she  prays 
And  where  she  prays  and  everywhere, 
Or  storm-strewn  days  or  sundown  days — 
What  ill  to  Silence  can  befall 
Since  Silence  knows  no  ill  at  all  ? 

IX 

1 '  Vast  Silence  seems  some  twilight  sky 
That  leans  as  with  her  weight  of  stars 
To  rest,  to  rest,  no  more  to  roam, 
But  rest  and  rest  eternally. 
She  loosens  and  lets  down  the  bars, 
She  brings  the  kind-eyed  cattle  home, 
She  breathes  the  fragrant  field  of  hay 
And  heaven  is  not  far  away. 

5 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

X 

The  deeps  of  soul  are  still  the  deeps 
Where  stately  silence  ever  keeps 
High  court  with  calm  Nirvana,  where 
No  shallows  break  the  noisy  shore 
Or  beat,  with  sad,  incessant  roar, 
The  fettered,  fevered  world  of  care 
As  noisesome  vultures  fret  the  air. 

XI 

The  star-sown  seas  of  thought  are  still, 

As  when  God's  plowmen  scatter  corn 

Along  the  mellow  grooves  at  morn, 

In  patient  trust  to  wait  His  will. 

The  star-sown  seas  of  thought  are  wide 

But  voiceless,  noiseless,  deep  as  night : 

Disturb  not  these,  the  silent  seas 

Are  sacred  unto  souls  allied 

As  golden  poppies  unto  bees. 

Here,  from  the  first,  rude  giants  wrought, 

Here  delved,  here  scattered  stars  of  thought 

To  grow,  to  bloom  in  years  unborn, 

As  grows  the  gold-horned  yellow  corn." 

XII 

As  one  beholding  some  sweet  nook 
Of  wild  oats  mantling  yellow,  pink, 
So  dewy  new  that  never  yet 
E'en  timid  rabbit's  foot  has  set, 
Will  pass,  then  turn,  return  to  look, 
Then  pass  again  to  think  and  think, 
Then  try  to  not  turn  back  again, 
But  try  and  try  to  quite  forget 
And  sighing,  try  and  try  in  vain  ; 
So  you  would  turn  and  turn  again 
To  her,  her  girlish  woman's  grace  — 
Full-flowered  yet  fair  baby's  face. 

XIII 

Her  wide,  sweet  "mouth,  an  opened  rose, 
Pushed  out,  reached  out,  as  if  to  kiss  ; 
6 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

A  mobile  mouth  in  proud  repose 
This  moment,  then  unlike  to  this 
As  storm  to  calm,  as  day  to  night, 
As  sullen  darkness  to  swift  light, 
This  new-made  woman  was,  this  sun 
And  surged  sea  inter  wound  in  one. 

XIV 

Her  proud  and  ample  lips  pushed  out 
As  kissing  sea- winds  unaware  ; 
And  then  they  arched  in  angry  pout, 
As  if  she  cared  yet  did  not  care, 
Then  lightning  lit  her  great,  wide  eyes, 
As  if  black  thunder  walled  the  skies, 
And  all  things  took  some  touch  of  her, 
The  while  she  stood  nor  deigned  to  stir  : 

XV 

Such  eyes  as  compass  all  the  skies, 
That  see  all  things  yet  naught  have  seen  ; 
Such  eyes  of  love  and  sorrow's  eyes  — 
A  martyr  or  a  Magdalene. 
How  sad  that  all  great  souls  are  sad  ! 
How  sad  that  gladness  is  not  glad  — 
That  I^ove's  sad  sister  is  sweet  Pain, 
That  only  lips  of  beauty  drain 
Life's  full-brimmed,  glittering  goblet  dry, 
And  only  drain  the  cup  to  die  ! 

XVI 

The  yellow  of  her  poppy  hair 
Was  as  red  gold  is,  when  at  rest ; 
But  when  aroused  was  as  the  west 
In  sunset  flame  and  then  —  take  care  ! 
Her  tall,  free-fashioned,  supple  form 
Was  now  some  sudden,  tropic  storm, 
Was  now  some  lily  leaned  at  play. 
What  sea  and  sun,  sunshine  and  shower 
Full-flowered  ere  the  noon  of  day, 
Full  June  ere  yet  the  noon  of  May, 

7 


AS   IT  WAS    IN   THE   BEGINNING 

This  sun-born  blossom  of  an  hour  — 
Precocious  Californian  flower  ! 

XVII 

She  answered  not  but  looked  away 

With  brown  hand  arched  above  her  brow, 

As  peers  a  boatman  from  his  prow, 

To  where  white  sea-doves  wheeled  at  play. 

She  watched  them  long,  then  turned  and  sighed 

And  looking  in  his  face  she  cried 

While  blushing  prettily,  ' '  Behold, 

There  is.  no  mateless  dove,  not  one  ! 

And  see  !  not  one  unhappy  dove. 

Ten  thousand  circling  in  the  sun, 

Entangled  as  the  mesh  of  fate, 

Yet  each  remains  as  true  as  gold 

And  constant  courts  his  pretty  mate. 

See  here  !     See  there  !     Below,  above  — 

I  think  yon  dove  would  die  for  love." 

XVIII 

He  watched  the  shallows  spume  the  shore 
Then  far  at  sea  his  swift  eyes  swept 
Where  one  tall,  stately,  snow-white  sail 
Its  silent  course  majestic  kept. 
1 '  The  shallows  murmur  and  complain, 
The  shallows  turn  with  wind  and  tide, 
They  fringe  with  froth  and  moil  the  main  ; 
They  wail  and  will  not  be  denied  — 
Poor,  puny  babes,  unsatisfied  ! 

XIX 

"  The  light-house  clings  her  beetling  steep 
Toward  the  rock-sown,  ragged  shore 
Where  Scylla  and  Charybdis  roar 
And  dangers  lurk  and  shallows  keep 
Mad  tumult  in  the  house  of  sleep. 
The  shallows  moan  and  moan  alway  — 
The  deeps  have  not  one  word  to  say. 
8 


AS    IT   WAS    IN   THE    BEGINNING 

XX 

' '  I  reckon  Silence  as  a  grace 
That  was  ere  light  had  name  or  place ; 
A  saint  enshrined  ere  hand  was  laid 
To  fashioning  of  man  or  maid. 
For,  storm  or  calm,  or  sun  or  shade, 
Fair  Silence  never  truth  betrayed ; 
For,  ocean  deep  or  dappled  sky, 
L,o ved  Silence  never  told  a  lie." 

/ 

CANTO  II. 

I 

From  out  the  surge  of  Sutro's  steep, 
Beyond  the  Gate  a  rock  uprears 
So  sudden,  savage,  unawares 
The  very  billows  start  and  leap, 
As  frightened  at  its  lifted  face, 
So  shoreless,  sealess,  out  of  place  ; 
A  sea-washed,  surge-locked  isle,  as  lone 
As  proud  Napoleon  on  his  throne, 
His  Saint  Helena  throne,  where  still  s 
The  dazed  world  in  dumb  wonder  turns 
To  his  high- throned,  imperious  will 
And  incense  burns  and  ever  burns. 
Here  huge  sea-lions  climb  and  cling, 
Despite  of  surge  and  seethe  and  shock, 
The  topmost  Iftnit  of  the  rock, 
And  one  is  named  Napoleon,  king. 
Behold  him  lord  the  land,  the  sea, 
In  stern,  unquestioned  majesty  ! 

II 

She  saw,  she  raised  her  drooping  head 
With  eager  face  and  cheering  said  : 
"  What  lusty,  upheaved,  bull-built,  neck  ! 
What  lungs  to  lift  above  the  roar  ! 
What  captain  on  his  quarter  deck 
To  mock  the  sea  and  scorn  the  shore  1 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

I  like  that  gash  across  his  breast, 
I  like  his  ardent,  lover's  zest  !  " 

III 

The  huge  sea-beast  uprose,  uprose, 

As  if  he  now  must  topple  down. 

He  reached  his  black  and  bearded  nose 

Above  his  harem,  gray,  black,  brown, 

Sleek,  shining,  wet,  or  steaming  dry, 

And  mouthed  and  mouthed  against  the  sky. 

IV 

What  eloquence,  what  hot  love  pain  ! 
What  land  but  this,  what  love  but  his  ? 
What  isle  of  bliss  but  this  and  this  — 
To  roar  and  love  and  roar  again  ? 
What  land,  what  love  but  this  his  own, 
Loud  roaring  from  his  slippery  throne  ! 


V 

At  last  her  heart  was  moved  and  she 

Raised  her  great  eyes  to  his  black  beard, 

Then  sudden  turned  as  if  she  feared 

And  threw  her  headlong  in  the  sea, 

Another  Sappho,  all  for  love, 

While  Phaon  towered  still  above. 

An  instant  only  ;  yet  once  more 

That  upheaved  head,  that  great  bull  neck,      \ 

That  sea-born,  bossed,  bull-  throated  roar  — 

A  poise,  a  plunge,  a  flash,  a  fleck, 

And  far  down,  caverned  in  the  deep, 

Where  sea-green  curtains  swing  and  sweep 

And  vari-colored  carpets  creep, 

Soft  emerald  or  amethyst 

Two  lion  lovers  kept  sweet  tryst. 

VI 

She  looked,  looked  long,  then  smiled,  then  sighed 
A  proud,  pure  soul  unsatisfied. 

10 


AS    IT   WAS    IN   THE    BEGINNING 

She  threw  her  backward,  arms  wide  out, 

And  up  the  poppy  spangled  steep, 

O  'er  grass  set  cushions  sown  in  gold, 

As  she  would  sleep  yet  would  not  sleep. 

She  reached  her  wide  hands  fast  about 

And  grasses,  gold  and  manifold, 

Of  lowly  blossoms,  pink  and  blue, 

vShe  gathered  in  and  laughing  threw, 

With  bare-armed,  heedless,  happy  grace  — 

Threw  fragrant  handfuls  in  his  face 

And  then  as  if  to  sleep  she  lay, 

A  babe  nursed  at  the  breast  of  May  — 

I/ay  back  with  blue  eyes  to  the  skies 

And  clouds  of  wondrous  butterflies : 

Such  Mariposa  blooms  in  air, 

Such  bloomy,  golden  poppy  hair  ! 

And  which  were  hers  or  poppy' s  gold 

Without  your  touch  none  could  have  told  ; 

And  which  were  butterflies  or  bloom, 

To  guess,  there  was  not  guessing  room, 

The  while,  in  quest  of  sweets  or  rest 

They  fanned  her  face,  they  kissed  her  breast. 

VII 

That  face  like  to  a  lifted  song, 
A  face  of  sea-shell  tint,  with  tide 
Of  springtime  flowing  fast  and  strong 
And  fearless  in  its  maiden  pride  — 
A  red  rose  ambushed  in  such  hair 
Of  heedless,  wind-kissed,  poppy  gold, 
Blown  here,  blown  there,  blown  anywhere, 
Soft-lifting,  falling  fold  on  fold, 
As  made  gold  poppies  where  she  sat 
Turn  envious,  turn  green  thereat : 
A  wise  face  yet  a  wilful  face, 
A  face  that  would  not  be  denied 
No  more  than  gipsy  winds  that  race 
The  sea  bank  in  their  saucy  pride, 
A  face  that  knew,  and  only  knew, 
The  natural,  the  human,  true, 
ii 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 
VIII 

Those  two  round  mounds  of  Nineveh, 

What  treasures  of  the  past  they  'knew  ! 

But  these  two  round  mounds  here  today 

Hold  treasures  richer  far  than  they, 

And  prophesies  more  truly  true. 

Old  Nineveh' s  twin  mounds  are  dust ; 

They  only  know  the  ghostly  past ; 

But  these  two  new  mounds  hold  in  trust 

The  awful  future,  hold  the  vast 

And  unborn  empires,  land  or  sea, 

Henceforth,  for  all  eternity. 

I/et  pass  dead  pasts  ;   far  wiser  turn 

And  delve  the  future  ;   love  and  learn. 

IX 

It  seems  she  dreamed.     She  slept,  we  know, 

A  happy,  quiet  little  space, 

Then  thrust  a  right  limb  far  below 

And  half  way  turned  aside  her  face, 

And  then  she  threw  her  arms  wide  out 

In  sleep  and  so  reached  blind  about, 

As  if  for  something  she  might  find 

From  fortune-telling,  gipsy  wind. 

X 

The  soft,  warm  winds,  from  far  away 
Were  weary  and  they  crept  so  near, 
They  lay  against  her  willing  ear 
As  if  they  had  so  much  to  say, 
And  she,  she  seemed  so  glad  to  near 
The  while  she  loving,  sleeping  lay 
And  dreamed  of  love  nor  dreamed  of  doubt, 
But  laughing,  thrust  her  form  far  out 
And  down  the  fragrant  poppy  steep 
In  playful,  restless,  happy  sleep. 
She  sighed,  she  heaved  her  hilly  breast, 
As  one  who  would  but  could  not  rest. 
12 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 
XI 

How  natural,  how  free,  how  fair 
The  while  the  happy  winds  on  wing, 
As  larger  butterflies,  laid  bare 
A  rippled,  braided  rim  of  white 
And  outstretched  ankles  exquisite  — 
What  ankles,  legs,  what  everything 
That  makes  great  woman  great  and  good 
That  makes  for  noblest  motherhood  ! 

XII 

Such  legs  as  mount  the  steeps  of  morn, 
Such  legs  as  love,  not  lust,  may  share, 
Such  legs  as  God  has  shaped  to  bear 
The  weight  of  ages,  worlds  unborn; 
Such  legs  as  Lesbian  shrines  revealed 
When  comely,  longing  mothers  kneeled  ; 
Such  legs  as  Milo  dared  to  hew 
And  all  the  clean  world  longed  to  view  ; 
Such  legs  as  Millais  loved  to  draw 
When  painting  tall,  Greek  girls  at  play  ; 
Such  legs  as  blind  old  Homer  saw, 
As  Marlowe  knew  but  yesterday 
When  Helen  climbed  once  more  for  him 
Her  cloud-topt  towers  of  Illium. 

CANTO  III. 

I 

Bright  sea-gulls  glistened  in  the  sun  — 
Ten  thousand  if  a  single  one  — 
And  every  sea-dove  knew  its  mate. 
Far,  far  at  sea,  the  Farallones 
Sent  up  a  million  plaintive  moans 
From  sea-beasts  moaning  love  or  hate. 
The  sun  sank  weary,  flushed  and  worn, 
The  warm  sea-winds  sank  tattered,  torn, 
The  sun  and  sea  lay  welded,  wed  ; 
The  day  lay  couched  upon  the  deep 

13 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THK    BEGINNING 

Half  closed,  as  eyes  that  close  in  sleep, 

Half  closed,  as  some  good  book  just  read. 

The  sea  was  an  opal  sea 

Inlaid  in  scintillating  light, 

Yet  close  about  and  left  and  right 

The  sea  lay  banked  and  bossed  in  night 

As  black  as  ever  night  may  be. 

The  sundown  sea  all  sudden  then 

L,ay  argent,  pallid,  white  as  death, 

As  when  some  great  thing  dies,  as  when 

A  god  gasps  in  one  final  breath 

And  heaves  full  length  his  somber  bed. 

The  sundown  sea  now  shone,  mobile, 

Translucent,  flaming,  molten  steel, 

Red,  green,  then  tenfold  more  than  red, 

And  then  of  every  hue,  a  hint 

Of  doubloons  spilling  from  the  mint, 

Alternate,  changing,  manifold, 

Yet  melting,  minting  all  to  gold. 

II 
Far  mountain  peaks  flashed  flecks  of  gold 

.  And  dashed  with  dappled  flecks  the  skies. 

11  Behold,"  said  he,  "  the  fleecy  fold 
Now  slowly,  surely,  homeward  hies. 
Such  cobalt  blue,  such  sheep  of  gold, 
Such  gold  as  hath  not  place  nor  name 
In  elsewhere  land,  because  no  seer 
Hath  seen,  or  daring  prophet  told 
Where  stood  the  loom  in  past'ral  peace 
That  wove  the  fair,  first  golden  fleece. 
Behold,  what  gold-flecked  flocks  of  light. 
Ten  million  moving  sheep  of  gold, 
Wee  lambs  of  gold  that  nudge  their  dams, 
Great  horned,  wrinkled,  heady  rams. 

Ill 

'  *  Slow-shepherded,  the  golden  sheep, 
With  bent  horns  lowered  to  the  deep, 
Come  home  ;  the  hollows  of  the  sea 

14 


AS    IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Receive  and  house  them  lovingly. 
The  little  lambs  of  light  come  home 
And  house  them  in  the  argent  foam, 
The  while  He  counts  them  every  one, 
And  shuts  the  Gate,  for  day  is  done. 

IV 

* '  Aye,  day  is  done,  the  dying  sun 
Sinks  wounded  unto  death  tonight ; 
A  great,  hurt  swan,  he  sinks  to  rest, 
His  wings  all  crimson,  blood  his  breast ! 
With  wide,  low  wings,  reached  left  and  right 
He  sings,  and  night  and  swan  are  one. 
What  crimson  breast,  what  crimson  wings 
The  while  he  dies  and  dying  sings  ! 
Yet  safe  is  housed  the  happy  fold, 
The  golden  sheep,  the  fleece  of  gold 
That  lured  the  dauntless  Argonaut, 
The  fleece  that  daring  Jason  sought. 
Some  far-off  day  the  golden  sheep 
May  rise  from  resting  in  the  deep. 
So  let  us  joy  to  know  the  lambs 
Of  gold  are  resting  with  their  dams 
Where  lord  and  lead  the  heady  rams." 

V 

She  waking  sighed,  soft  murmuring 
As  waters  from  some  wood-walled  spring  : 
1  '  Oh  happy,  huge,  horn-headed  rams 
To  guide  and  lead  the  golden  fleece, 
To  ward  the  fold  of  fat  increase 
Fast  mated  to  your  golden  dams  ! 
What  bridal  gold,  what  golden  bride, 
What  golden  twin  lambs,  side  and  side  ! 
Oh  happy,  happy  nudging  lambs  ! 
Thrice  happy,  happy  golden  dams  !" 

VI 

His  face  was  still  against  the  west ; 
For  still  a  flash  of  gold  was  there 
That  would  not  or  that  could  not  rest 

15 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

But  seemed  some  night  bird  of  the  air. 
At  last,  with  half  averted  head 
And  heedlessly,  as  dreaming  said  : 
What  banker  gathers  yonder  gold 
That  sinks,  sea-washed,  beyond  the  deeps  ? 
Lie  there  no  sands  to  house  and  hold 
This  sunset  gold  in  countless  heaps  ? 
There  sure  must  be  some  far,  fierce  land, 
Some  Guinea  shore,  some  Indus  strand, 
Some  dreamy,  palm-set,  pathless  spot 
Where  all  this  sunset  gold  is  stored, 
As  misers  gather  hoard  on' hoard. 
There  sure  must  be  beyond  this  sea 
Some  Argo's  gold,  some  argosy, 
Some  golden  fleece,  long  since  forgot, 
To  wait  the  coming  Argonaut. ' ' 

VII 

She  sprang  up  sudden,  savagely, 
And  flushed  and  paled,  looked  far  away, 
Grinding  gold  poppies  with  her  heel. 
She  could  not  say,  she  could  but  feel. 
She  nothing  said,  because  that  they 
Who  really  feel  can  rarely  say. 
And  then  she  looked  up,  forth  and  far, 
And  pointed  to  the  pale  North  Star, 
The  while  her  color  went  and  came 
From  pink  to  white,  from  frost  to  flame. 

VIII 

For  this,  the  one  forbidden  theme, 
The  one  hard,  dread,  unquiet  dream 
That  he  should  gp,  lead  forth  and  far 
Below  the  tripple  Arctic  star 
As  he  had  planned  ;  and  now  to  speak, 
To  hint  —  she  heard  with  pallid  cheek. 
Hard  had  she  tried,  had  fain  forgot 
How  strong,  new  men  were  trending  far 
Toward  this  still  elusive  star, 
And  he  their  Jason  —  Argonaut  ! 
16 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

CANTO  IV. 

t 

I 

How  passing  fair,  how  wondrous  fair 
This  daughter  of  the  yellow  sun  ! 
Her  sunlit  length  and  strength  of  hair 
Seemed  sun  and  gold  inwound  as  one. 
How  strangely  silent,  unaware, 
Unconscious  quite  of  strength  or  grace 
Or  peril  of  her  beauteous  face, 
She  stood,  the  first-born  of  a  race, 
A, proud,  new  race,  scarce  yet  begun. 
How  tall  she  stood,  how  debonair, 
To  comb  her  mighty  Titian  hair  ! 

II 

So  beautiful  she  was,  as  one 
From  out  some  priceless  picture-book, 
You  could  but  love,  you  had  no  choice 
But  love  and  turn  again  to  look. 
How  young  she  was,  and  yet  how  old  ! 
Red  orange  ripened  in  the  sun 
Where  never  hand  had  reached  as  yet. 
The  calm  strength  of  her  lifted  face, 
The  low  notes  of  her  tuneful  voice 
Were  mint-marks  of  that  wondrous  race 
But  scarcely  born  nor  known  as  yet 
Beyond  yon  yellow  hills  that  fret 
Warm  sea-winds  with  their  waving  pine ; 
A  princess  of  that  royal  line 
Of  kings  who  came  and  silent  passed, 
Yet,  passing,  set  bold,  royal  hand 
And  mighty  signet  on  the  land, 
And  set  it  there  to  last  and  last, 
As  if  in  bronzen  copper  cast. 

III. 

He,  too,  was  born  of  giant  men, 
Of  men  who  knew  not  tears  or  fears, 
Of  men  full-sexed,  yet  men  who  knew 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

Not  sex  till  perfect  manhood,  when 
Men  '  gat  great  men  who  dared  to  do  ; 
'  Gat  men  of  heart  who  dwelt  apart, 
As  Adam  dwelt,  when  giants  grew 
And  men  as  gods  drew  ample  breath  — 
Tall  Adams  with  their  thousand  years, 
Ere  drunkenness  of  sex  had  done 
The  silly  world  to  willing  death ; 
Of  royal  parentage,  of  true 
Nobility,  of  those  who  knew 
The  light,  who  chased  the  yellow  sun 
From  sea  to  sea  triumphantly, 
And  westward  fought  and  westward  won, 
As  never  daring  man  had  done. 

IV 

They  housed  with  God  upon  the  height, 
Companioned  with  the  peak,  the  pine, 
They  led  the  red  lit  firing  line. 
Walled  'round  by  room  and  room  and  room, 
They  read  God's  open  book  at  night, 
And  drank  His  star-distilled  perfume. 
By  day  they  dared  their  trackless  west 
And  chased  the  battling  sun  to  rest. 

V 

Such  sad,  mad  marches  to  the  sea, 

Such  silent  sacrifice,  such  trust  ! 

Such  months  of  battle,  misery, 

Such  mountains  heaped  with  heroes'  dust  ! 

Yet  what  stout  thews  the  peerless  few 

Who  won  the  sea  at  last,  who  knew 

The  cleansing  fire  and  laid  hold 

To  hammer  out  God's  house  of  gold  ! 

VI 

Their  cities  zone  the  sea  of  seas, 
Their  white  tents  top  the  mountain's  crest. 
The  coward  ?     He  trenched  not  with  these. 
The  weakling  ?     He  was  laid  to  rest. 

18 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Each  man  stood  forth  a  man,  such  man 

As  God  wrought  not  since  time  began, 

Each  man  a  hero,  lion  each. 

Behold  what  length  of  limb,  what  length 

Of  life,  of  love,  what  daring  reach 

To  deep-hived  honeycomb  !     What  strength 

This  out-door  Adam  !     He  is  clean, 

As  virile  nature's  vernal  green  ; 

He  stands  so  tall,  so  clean,  he  hears 

The  morning  music  of  the  spheres. 

VII 

He  loved  her,  feared  her,  far  apart, 

He  kept  his  ways  and  dreamed  his  dreams  ; 

He  sang  strange  songs,  he  tuned  his  heart 

To  music  of  the  pines  that  preach 

Such  sermons  on  such  holy  themes 

As  only  he  who  climbs  can  reach 

Or  comprehend,  heart  laid  to  heart  ; 

For  art  is  heart,  as  heart  is  art. 

VIII 

He  would  not  selfish  pluck  one  rose 
To  wear  upon  his  breast  a  day 
And  let  its  perfume  pass  away 
With  any  wind  that  comes  or  goes, 
Why,  he  might  walk  God's  garden  through 
Nor  touch  a  bud  nor  fright  a  bird. 
The  music  of  the  spheres  he  heard, 
The  harmony  he  breathed,  he  knew. 
He  never  marred  God's  harmony 
With  one  harsh  thought.     The*favoredjfew 
Who  cared  to  live  above  the  sod 
And  lift  glad  faces  up  to  God 
He  knew  loved  all  as  well  as  he, 
Had  equal  rights  to  rose  or  tree. 

IX 

And  he  must  spare  all  to  the  day 
Their  willing  feet  should  pass  the  way 
God  in  his  garden  walked  at  eve. 

19 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

And  as  for  weaklings  who  by  turn 
Would  jest  or  jeer,  he  could  but  grieve, 
And  pity  all  and  silent  say, 
'  Let  us  lead  forth,  make  fair  the  way, 
By  time  and  stress  they,  too,  will  learn 
Which  way  to  walk,  to  love,  to  turn." 

X 

The  long,  lean  Polar  bear  uprose, 
Outreached  a  claw  and  bare,  black^sole 
Above  his  battlement  of  snows 
And  showed  his  yellow  teeth  in  vain, 
Then  '  round  about  his  bleak  North  Pole 
He  dragged  and  clanked  his  icy  chain. 
And  he  who  dared  not  pluck  a  rose, 
As  if  in  chorus  with  his  pine, 
Must  up  and  lead  the  battle  line, 
Dare  pluck  the  grizzled  beard  of  Death, 
Dare  laugh  at  Death  with  joyous  breath. 

XI 

No  idle  talk,  no  idle  tears, 
No  airy  sighs,  no  tales  to  tell  ; 
He  knew  God  is,  that  all  is  well, 
That  faith  is  death  to  idle  fears  ; 
That  death  is  but  a  name,  a  date, 
A  milestone  by  the  stormy  road, 
Where  you  may  lay  aside  your  load 
And  bow  your  face  and  rest  and  wait. 

XII 

Huge  ships,  black-bellied,  lay  below, 
Broad,  yellow  flags  from  silken  Chind, 
Round,  blood-red  banners  of  Nippon, 
I/ike  to  their  Orient  sun  at  dawn  — 
Brave  battle-ships  as  white  as  snow, 
With  bannered  stars  tossed  to  thejwind, 
Warm  as  a  kiss  when  love  is  kind. 
20 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 
\ 

XIII 

'  Twas  night,  such  soft,  sweet,  maiden  night 
As  only  Californians  know, 
When  nightingales  are  forth,  and  when 
The  Bay  lies  bathed  in  mellow  light 
Blown  far  from  Honolulu' s  seas  — 
From  sundown  seas  in  afterglow, 
When  Song  sits  at  the  feet  of  men 
And  pipes,  low-voiced  as  mated  dove, 
For  love  to  measure  step  with  love. 

XIV 

And  yet,  for  all  the  perfumed  seas, 
The  peace,  the  silent  harmonies, 
The  two  stood  mute,  estranged  before 
Her  high-built,'  stately,  opened  door 
High  up  the  terraced,  plunging  hill 
As  hushed  as  death,  as  white  and  still. 

XV 

The  moon,  amid  her  yellow  fleet, 

With  full,  white  sail,  moved  on  and  on, 

And  drew,  as  loving  hearts  are  drawn, 

All  seas  of  earth  fast  following, 

As  slow  she  sailed  her  sapphire  seas. 

Then  as  if  pausing,  pitying, 

She  poured  down  at  their  very  feet 

Broad  silver  ways  to  walk  upon 

Which  way  they  would,  or  east  or  west, 

Which  way  they  would,  or  worst  or  best. 

XVI 

Her  voice  was  low,  low  leaned  her  head, 
Her  two  white  hands  the  instant  pressed 
As  if  to  hush  her  aching  breast, 
As  if  to  bind  her  breaking  heart 
To  silent  bear  its  bitter  part, 
The  while  she  choking,  sobbing,  said  : 
4 '  Then  here,  for  all  our  poppy  days, 
Here,  here,  the  parting  of  the  ways  ? ' ' 
21 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 
XVII 

"  Aye,  so  you  will  it.     Here  divide 
The  ways,  forever  and  a  day. 
You,  you  —  you  women  lead  the  way, 
You  lead  where  loving  men  have  died, 
You  women  lead  to  hollow  lands, 
Of  bloodless  hearts  and  nerveless  hands. 
I  will  not  rival,  look  on  such, 
Save  but  with  pity  and  disgust, 
Because,  because  I  loved  so  much — 
Because,  because  I  love  you  still. 
You  women  lead  because  you  will, 
Men  follow  you  because  they  must ; 
Because  they  love  as  lovers  when 
Sierra  States  were  born  of  men  ; 
When  giants  knew  the  land  and  came 
With  nerves  of  steel  and  souls  of  flame — 
Could  you  not  wait  within  your  Gate, 
As  their  loves  dared  to  wait  and  wait  ? ' ' 

XVIII 

Her  head  sank  lower  still ;  her  hair, 
Her  heavy  hair,  great  bars  of  gold, 
Hung  loosened,  heedless,  fold  on  fold, 
As  if  she  knew  not,  could  not  care  ; 
She  tried  to  speak  but  nothing  said  ; 
She  could  but  press  her  aching  heart, 
Step  back  a  pace  and  shudder,  start, 
The  while  she  slowly  moved  her  head, 
As  if  to  say,  but  nothing  said. 

XIX 

His  tongue  was'  sudden  loose  with  rage, 
He  strode  before  her,  forth  and  back, 
A  lion  strident  in  his  cage, 
Hard  bound  within  his  narrow  track. 
1 '  My  father,  yours,  each  Argonaut 
An  Alexander,  to  this  sea 
Came  forth  and  conquered  mightily. 
An  hundred  thousand  Didoes  sat 
22 


( I 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Atlantic's  sea-bank  nor  forgot, 
But  patient  sat  as  Dido  when 
She  waved  her  Eneas  back  again. 
Yet  you,  you  cannot,  will  not  wait 
My  coming  back  through  yonder  Gate  ! 

XX 

Hear  me  !     All  Europe,  rind  to  core 
Is  rotting,  crumbling,  base  to  top. 
Withhold  the  gold  and  silver  prop 
Our  dauntless  fathers  hewed  of  yore 
From  yonder  seamed  Sierra's  core 
And  such  a  toppling  you  may  hear 
As  never  fell  on  mortal  ear. 

XXI 

What's  London  town  but  sorrow's  town 
And  sins,  such  as  I  dare  not  name  ? 
Such  thousands  creeping  up  and  down 
Its  dirty  streets  in  draggled  shame  ! 
What's  London  but  a  market  pen  — 
Its  hundred  thousand  hungry  men  ? 
What's  London  but  a  town  of  stone, 
Its  thousand  thousand  women  prone  ? 

XXII 

What's  Paris  but  a  painted  screen, 

A  gaudy  gauze  that  scant  conceals 

The  sensuous  nakexlness  between 

The  folds  that  but  the  more  reveals  ? 

What's  Paris  but  a  circus,  fair, 

To  tempt  this  west  world's  open  purse 

With  tawdry  trinkets,  toys  bizarre  ? 

Ah,  would  that  she  were  nothing  worse  ! 

What's  Paris  but  a  piteous  mart 

For  west  world  mothers  crazed  to  trade 

Some  silly,  novel-reading  maid 

23 


AS   IT   WAS    IN   THE    BEGINNING 

For  thread-bare,  out-at-elbow  rank  — 
To  outworn,  weak  degenerate, 
Whose  bank  is  but  the  faro  bank  ; 
Whose  grave,  his  only  real  estate ; 
Whose  boast,  whose  only  stock  in  trade  — 
A  duel  and  a  ruined  maid. 

XXIII 

"What's  Berlin,  Dresden,  sorry  Rome, 
But  traps  that  take  you  unaware  ? 
Behold  those  paintings,  right  at  home, 
Where  nature  paints  with  patient  care 
Such  splendid  pictures,  sea  and  shore, 
As  all  the  world  should  bow  before : 
Such  pictures  hanging  to  the  skies 
Against  the  walls  of  Paradise, 
From  base  to  bastion,  as  should  wake 
Piave's  painter  from  the  dust: 
Such  walls  of  color  crowned  in  snow, 
Such  steeps,  such  deeps,  profoundly  vast, 
As  old-time  Art  had  died  to  know, 
And  knowing,  died  content,  as  he 
Who  looked  from  Nimo's  steep  to  see, 
Just  once,  the  Promised  Land,  and  passed ! 
And  yet,  for  all  yon  scene,  this  sea, 
You  will  not  bide,  Penelope  ? 

XXIV 

'  *  Then  go,  since  you  so  will  it,  go  ! 
My  way  lies  yonder,  forth  and  far 
Beneath  yon  gleaming  northmost  star, 
O'er  silent  lands  of  trackless  snow. 
L,o,  there  leads  duty,  hope,  as  when 

V 

This  westmost  world  demanded  men  ; 
Such  men  as  led  the  firing  line 
When  blood  ran  free  as  festal  wine  ; 
Such  men  as  when,  fast  side  by  side, 
Our  fathers  fought  and  fighting  died. 

24 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

XXV 

But  go  —  Good  bye  !     Go  see  again 

T!le  noisy  circus,  since  you  must ; 

Its  painted  women  that  disgust, 

Its  nauseating  monkey  men  ; 

But  mark  you,  Miriam,  the  moth 

That  loves  that  luring,  passing  light  — 

Nay,  hear  !     I  am  not  wilful,  wroth  ; 

I  love  with  such  exceeding  might, 

My  Miriam,  my  all,  my  life, 

I  would  not,  could  not  take  to  wife 

My  lily  tainted  by  the  touch, 

The  breath,  the  willing  sight  of  such. 

XXVI 

Shall  I  see  leprous  apes  lean  o'  er 
My  rose,  touch,  breathe  it  if  they  may 
With  breath  that  is  a  very  stench, 
The  while  they  bow  and  bend  before, 
Familiar,  as  with  some  weak  wench, 
And  smirk  in  double-meaning  French  ? 

XXVII 

You  shrink  back  angered  ?     Well,  adieu  ! 
What,  not  a  hand  ?     What,  not  a  touch  ? 
My  crime  is  that  I  love  too  much, 
My  crime  is  that  I  love  too  true, 
Love  you,  love  you,  not  part  of  you  — 
Yea,  how  much  less  the  rose  that  droops 
In  fevered  halls  where  folly  stoops  ! 

XXVIII 

Yon  splendid,  tripple,  midnight  star 
Is  mine,   I  follow  fast  and  sure, 
Because  it  guides  so  far,  so  far 
From  fevered  follies  that  allure 
Your  soul,  your  splendid,  spotless  soul, 
To  wreck  where  syren  billows  roll  — 
Good  night !     What,  turn  aside  your  face 
That  I  might  never  see  again 

25 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

Its  lifted  glpry  and  proud  grace,  c 
As  some  brave  beacon  light  to  men  ?  — 
Ha,  ha  !     Let's  laugh  lest  one  may  weep — 
How  steep  your  hill  seems,  steeps  how  steep  ! 
How  deep  down  seems  the  silent  town, 
How  lonej  how  dark,  how  distant  down  ! 
The  moon,  too,  turns  her  face,  her  light, 
As  you  have  turned  your  face  tonight, 
As  you  have  turned  your  face  from  me, 
My  heartless,  lost  Penelope." 

XXIX 

She  heard  and  yet  she  did  not  hear ; 
All  seemed  as  some  mad,  midnight  dream, 
A  far  sea  sound  was  in  her  ear  ; 
Her  eyes  seemed  hurt  as  by  a  beam 
Of  light  that  fell  too  bright  to  last 
And  left  her  blinded  as  it  passed. 

XXX 

Then  sudden  .up  she  tossed  her  head. 
She  strode  her  porch  and  striding  said  : 
Penelope  !     To  wait  and  weave  ! 
Penelope  !     To  wait  and  wait 
As  waits  a  dog  within  his  gate, 
To  weave  and  unweave,  grieve  and  grieve, 
As  some  weak  harem  favorite 
Tight  fenced  from  love  and  life  and  light ! 

XXXI 

Why,  I  should  not  have  sat  one  day 
To  that  dull  thud  and  thudding  loom, 
With  cowards  crowding  fast  for  room 
To  say  what  brave  men  dared  not  say  ! 
Why,  I  had  snatched  down  from  the  wall 
His  second  sword  that  sad  first  day 
And  set  its  edge  to  end  it  all  !  — 
Had  hewn  that  loom  to  splinters,  yea, 
Had  slashed  the  warp,  enmeshed  the  woof, 
And  called  that  dog  and  put  to  proof 
Each  silly  suitor  hounding  me 
Then  hoisted  sail  and  bent  to  sea  !  " 
26 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

XXXII 

'  *  Penelope  !     Penelope  ! 
Of  all  fool  tales  in  historic 
I  think  this  thing  the  foolishest ! 
Why,  I,  the  favored  of  that  land, 
Had  such  fools  come  to  seek  my  hand, 
Had  ranged  in  line  the  sexless  list 
And  frankly  answered  with  my  fist ! ' ' 

XXXIII 

She  instant  paused.     Each  helpless  hand 
Fell  down,  fell  heavy  down  as  lead  ; 
She  tried  but  could  not  understand. 
At  last  she  raised  once  more  her  head, 
Set  firm  her  lips,  stepped  forth  a  pace, 
I/ooked  long  his  far  star  in  the  face, 
Stood  stately,  still,  as  fixed  as  fate, 
Till  all  the  east  flushed  sudden  red. 
Then  as  she  turned  within  she  said, 
Said  sad  as  night,  yet  glad  as  day, 
Said  firm,  yet  soft  as  love  could  say, 
With  one  last  word  across  the  gate  : 
11 1  cannot  and  I  will  not  wait." 

CANTO  V. 

I 

His  tripple  star  led  on  and  on, 
L,ed  up  blue-bastioned  Chilkoot c  pass 
To  clouds,  through  clouds,  above  white  clouds 
That  droop  with  snows  like  beaded  strouds 
Above  a  world  of  gleaming  glass, 
Where  loomed  such  city  of  the  skies 
As  only  prophets  look  upon,     » 
As  only  loving  poets  see, 
With  prophet  ken  of  mystery. 

II 

What  lone,  white  silence,  left  or  right, 
What  whiteness,  something  more  than  white, 
Such  steel  blue  whiteness,  van  or  rear  — 

27 


AS   IT   WAS   IX   THE    BEGIXNIXG 


Such  «aV»«M^  as  you  could  but  hear 
Above  the  sparkled,  frosted  rime, 
As  if  the  steely  stars  kept  time. 

Ill 

What  temples,  towers,  tombs  of  white, 
White  tombs,  white  tombstones,  left  and  right, 
That  pushed  the  passing  night  aside 
To  ward  where  fallen  stars  had  died  — 
To  ward  white  tombs  where  dead  stars  lay  — 
White  tombs  more  white,  more  bright  than  day  ; 
White  tombs  high  heaped  white  tombs  upon, 
White  Ossa  piled  on  Pelion. 

IV 

Pale,  steel  stars  flashed,  rose,  fell  again, 
Then  leaning  sang  a  silent  rune 
As  if  all  heaven  was  in  tune 
And  earth  had  never  heard  of  pain. 
They  pxassed,  returned,  paled,  flashed  again, 
Then  paused,  leaned  low,  as  pitying, 
And  leaning  so  began  to  sing, 
The  while  they  rocked,  with  mother  care, 
The  new  moon's  silver  rocking-chair. 

V 

Night  here,  mid-year,  is  as  a  span, 
Thor  came,  as  comes  a  king  of  war, 
Came  only  as  a  hero  can  ; 
Thor  stormed  the  battlements  and  Thor, 
Far  leaping,  climbing  high  thereon, 
Threw  battle  hammer  forth  and  back 
Until  the  wall  blazed  in  his  track 
With  sparks  and  it  was  sudden  dawn  — 
Dawn  sudden  sparkled  as  a  gem, 
A  jeweled,  frost-set  diadem 
Of  diamond,  ruby,  radium. 

VI 

Two  tallest,  ice-tipt  peaks  took  flame, 
Took  yellow  flame,  then  flush,  then  pink, 

28 


AS   IT   WAS   IN    THE    BEGINNING 

Then,  ere  you  yet  had  time  to  think, 

Took  hues  that  never  yet  had  name. 

Then  turret,  minaret  and  tower, 

As  if  to  mark  some  mystic  hour 

Or  ancient  lost  Masonic  sign, 

Took  on  a  darkness  like  to  night. 

Deep  night  below  that  yellow  light 

That  erstwhile  seemed  some  snow-white  tomb, 

Then  all  was  set  in  gray  and  gloom, 

As  some  dim,  lighted,  storied  shrine  — 

As  if  the  stars  forgot  to  stay 

At  court  when  came  the  kingly  day. 

•s 

VII 

And  now  the  high- built  shafts  of  brass, 
Gate  posts  that  guard  the  tomb-set  pass 
Put  off  their  crowns,  rich  robes  and  all 
Their  sudden,  splendid  light  let  fall ; 
And  tomb  and  minaret  and  tower 
Again  gleamed  as  that  midnight  hour, 
While  day,  as  scorning  still  to  wait, 
Dashed  fiercely  through  the  ice-locked  gate 
That  guards  the  arctic,  outer  hem 
Of  white,  high-built  Jerusalem. 

VIII 

To  see,  to  guess  the  great  white  throne. 
Behold  Alaska's  ice-built  steeps 
Where  everlasting  silence  keeps 
And  white  death  lives,  and  lords  alone  : 
Go  see  God' s  river  born  full  grown  — 
The  gold  of  this  stream  it  is  good, 
Here  grows  the  Ark's  white  gopher  wood  — 
A  wide,  white  land,  unnamed,  unknown, 
A  land  of  mystery  and  moan. 

IX 

Tall,  trim,  slim  gopher  trees  incline, 
A  leaning,  laden,  helpless  copse, 
And  moan  and  creak  and  intertwine 

29 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Their  laden,  twisted,  tossing  tops. 
The  melancholy  moose  looks  down 
In  overcoat  of  mousy  brown, 
While  far  against  the  gleaming  blue, 
High  up  a  rock-topt  ridge  of  snow 
Where  scarce  a  dream  would  care  to  go 
Climb  countless  monk-clad  caribou 
In  silent  line  till  lost  to  view. 

X 

The  rent  ice  surges,  grinds  and  roars, 
Then  gorges,  backs  and  climbs  the  shore, 
Then  breaks  with  sudden  rage  and  roar 
And  plunging  leaps  huge  toppled  stones 
Swift  down  the  seething,  surging  stream  — 
Mad  hurdles  of  some  monstrous  dream. 

XI 

To  see  this  river  born  full  grown, 
To  see  him  burst  the  womb  of  earth 
And  leap,  a  giant  at  his  birth, 
Through  shoreless  whiteness  with  such  shout, 
Is  as  to  know,  no  longer  doubt, 
Is  as  to  know  the  great  Unknown, 
Aye,  bow  before  the  great  white  throne. 

XII 

White-hooded  nuns,  in  gleaming  white, 
Kneel  o'er  his  cradle,  left  and  right, 
On  ice-heaved  summits  where  no  thing 
Has  yet  set  foot  or  flashed  a  wing  ; 
On  ice-built  summits  where  the  white 
Wide  world  is  but  a  sea  of  white  — 
White  kneeling  nuns  that  kneel  and  feed 
The  new-born  ice  god  in  his  greed 
And  feed,  forever  feed,  man's  soul. 
The  full  grown  river  bounds  right  on 
From  out  his  birthplace  tow'rd  the  Pole  ; 
He  knows  no  limit,  no  control, 

30 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

He  scarce  is  here  till  he  is  gone, 
This  sudden,  mad  ice-born  Yukon. 

XIII 

Beyond  white  plunging  Chilkoot  Pass, 
That  trackless  Pass  of  stately  tombs, 
Of  midday  glories,  midnight  glooms, 
Of  morn's  great  gate  posts,  girt  in  brass  — 
This  courtier,  born  to  nature' s  court, 
This  comrade  of  white  peaks  still  kept 
Companion  with  his  stars  and  leapt 
And  laughed,  the  gliding  sea  of  glass 
Beneath  his  feet  in  merry  sport. 
Then  mute  red  men,  the  quick  canoe 
Then  o  'er  the  ice  god's  breast  and  on, 
Till  gleaming  snows,  and  steeps  were  gone, 
Till  wide,  deep  waters,  swirling  blue, 
Received  the  sudden,  swift  canoe, 
That  leapt  and  laughed  and  laughing  flew. 

XIV 

Then  tall,  lean  trees,  girth  scarce  a  span, 
With  moss-set,  moss-hung  banks  of  mold, 
Most  rich  in  hue,  more  gorgeous  than 
Silk  carpetings  of  Turkistan  : 
Deep,  yellow  mosses,  rich  as  gold, 
More  gorgeous  than  the  eye  of  man 
Hath  seen  save  in  this  wonderland  — 
Then  flashing,  tumbling,  headlong  waves 
Below  white,  ice-heaved,  ice-built  shores  d 
The  river  swept  a  seam  of  white, 
Where  basalt  bluffs  made  day  like  night, 
And  then  they  heard  no  sound,  the  oars 
Were  idle,  still,  as  grassy  graves. 
And  then  the  mad,  tremendous  moon 
Spilt  silver  seas  to  plunge  upon, 
Possessed  the  land,  a  sea  of  white  ; 
That  white  moon  rivalled  the  red  dawn 
And  slew  the  very  name  of  night 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

And  walked  the  grave  of  afternoon  — 
That  vast,  vehement,  stark  mad  moon  ! 

XV 

Then  wide,  still  waters,  sedgy  shore, 
A  lank,  brown  wolf,  a  hungry  howl, 
A  lean  and  hungry  midday  moon  :  \ 
And  then  again  the  red  men's  oar —  \ 
A  wide-winged,  mute,  white  Arctic  owl, 
A  black,  red-crested,  screeching  loon 
That  knew  not  night  from  middle  noon, 
Nor  gold-robed  sun  from  lean,  lank  moon  — 
That  crazy,  black,  red-crested  loon.  e 

XVI 

Swift  narrows  now,  and  now  and  then 
A  broken  boat  with  drowning  men  ; 
Then  wide,  still  marshes,  dank  as  death, 
Where  conked  the  wild  goose  long  and  loud 
With  unabated,  angry  breath. 
Black  swallows  twittered  in  a  cloud 
Above  the  broad  mosquito  marsh, 
The  wild  goose  conked,  forlorn  and  harsh  ; 
Conked,  fluttered,  flew  in  warlike  mood 
Above  his  startled  myriad  brood. 
The  while  the  melancholy  moose, 
As  mated  to  the  conking  goose, 
Sank  to  his  eyes,  his  great,  sad  eyes, 
And  watched  boats  pass  in  hushedrsurprise  — 
Watched  broken  barge  and  drowning  men 
Drift,  swirl  and  plunge  the  gorge  again. 

XVII 

Again  that  great  white  Arctic  owl, 
As  pitying,  it  perched  the  bank 
Where  swirled  a  barge  and  swirling  sank  — 
A  drowned  man  swirling  with  white  face 
Low  lifting  from  the  swift  whirlpool. 
That  distant,  doleful,  hilltop  howl  — 
That  screaming,  crimson-crested  fool ! 

32 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

v 

And  oh,  that  ghastly,  death's  head  moon 

That  hung  the  cobalt  tent  of  blue 

And  looked  straight  down  to  look  you  through  - 

That  dead  man  swirling  in  his  place, 

The  owl,  the  wolf,  the  human  loon, 

And  oh,  that  death's  head,  hideous  moon  ! 

XVIII 

And  this  the*  Yukon,  night  by  night, 

The  yellow  Yukon,  day  by  day  ; 

A  land  of  death,  vast,  voiceless,  white, 

A  graveyard  locked  in  icy  clay, 

A  graveyard  to  the  Judgment  Day. 

XIX 

Again  the  swirling  pool  was  gone, 

Again  the  boat  swept  on,  swept  on, 

That  moon  was  as  a  thousand  moons  ! 

Two  dead  men  swirled,  one  swept,  one  sank  — 

Two  wolves,  two  owls,  two  yelling  loons, 

Three  lank,  black  wolves  along  the  bank 

That  watched  the  drowned  men  swirl  or  sink, 

Three  screeching  loons  along  the  brink  — 

That  moon  disputing  with  the  dawn 

That  dared  the  yellow,  mad  Yukon  ! 

XX 

And  why  so  like  some  lorn  graveyard 
Where  only  owls  and  loons  may  say 
And  life  goes  by  the  other  way  ? 
Aye,  why  so  hideous  and  so  hard, 
So  deathly  hard  to  look  upon  ? 
Because  this  cold,  white,  wild  Yukon, 
Or  gold-sown  banks  or  sea-white  waves, 
Is  but  one  land,  one  sea  of  graves  ! 

XXI 

Behold  where  bones  hang  either  bank  ! 
Great  tusks  of  beasts  before  the  flood 
That  floated  here  and  floating  sank  — 
'  Mid  ice-locked  walls  and  moss-hung  steep  ! 

33 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

Lo,  this  is  death-land  !     Heap  on  heap, 
The  Yukon  cleaves  a  graveyard  strown  — 
Three  thousand  miles  of  tusk  and  bone, 
All  strown  and  sown  just  as  they  lay 
That  time  the  fearful  deluge  passed, 
Safe  locked  in  ices  to  the  last, 
Safe  locked,  as  records  laid  away, 
To  wait  the  final  Judgement  Day. 

XXII 

He  landed,  pierced  the  icy  earth, 
He  burned  it  to  the  very  bone  — 
Burned  and  laid  bare  the  deep  bedstone 
Placed  at  the  building,  at  the  birth 
Of  morn,  and  here,  there,  everywhere, 
Such  bones  of  bison,  mastodon  ! 
Such  tusky  monsters  without  name  ! 
Great  ice-bound  bones  with  flesh  scarce  gone ; 
So  fresh  the  wild  dogs  nightly  came 
To  fight  about  and  feast  upon. 
And  gold  above  the  bedrock  lay 
So  bounteous  below  the  bones 
Men  barely  need  to  turn  the  stones 
To  fill  their  skins  within  the  day, 
With  rich  red  gold  and  go  their  way. 

XXIII 
"  The  gold  of  that  place  it  is  good." 

L,o,  here  God  laid  the  Paradise  ! 

I/),  here  each  witness  of  the  flood, 

Tight  jailed  in  ice  eternal  lies 

To  wait  the  bailiff '  s  chorus  call : 
1  *  Come  into  court,  come  one,  come  all ! ' ' 

But  why  so  cold,  so  deathly  cold 

The  battered  beasts,  the  scattered  gold, 

The  pleasant  trees  of  Paradise, 

Deep  locked  in  everlasting  ice  ? 

'     XXIV 

Hear,  hear  the  red  man's  simple  tale  : 
He  says  that  once,  o  'er  hill  and  vale, 

34 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Ripe  fruits  hung  ready  all  the  year  ; 
That  man  knew  neither  frost  or  fear, 
That  bison  wallowed  to  the  eyes 
In  grass,  that  palm  trees  touched  the  skies 
Where  birds  made  music  all  day  long. 
That  then  a  great  chief  shaped  a  spear, 
Bone-tipt  and  sharp  and  long  and  strong, 
And  also  made  a  moon-shaped  bow  ; 
That  then,  exultant,  crazed,  he  slew 
Ten  bison,  ten  great  bear  and,  too, 
A  harmless,  long-limbed,  shambling  moose ; 
That  then  the  smell  of  blood  let  loose 
The  passions  of  all  men  and  all 
Uprose  and  slew,  or  great  or  small  — 
Uprose  and  slew  till  hot  midday, 
All  four-foot  creatures  in  their  way  ; 
Then  proud,  exulting,  every  one 
Shook  his  red  spear-point  at  the  sun. 

XXV 

Then  God  said,  through  a  mist  of  tears, 
What  would  ye,  men  made  red  with  blood  ? ' ' 
And  then  they  shook  their  bone-tipt  spears 
And  cried,  "  The  sun  it  is  not  good  ! 
Too  hot  the  sun,  too  long  the  day  ; 
Break  off  and  throw  the  end  away  ! ' ' 

XXVI 

Then  God,  most  angered  instantly, 
Drew  down  the  day  from  out  the  sky 
And  brake  the  day  across  his  knee 
And  hurled  the  fragments  hot  and  high 
And  far  down  till  they  fell  upon 
The  waters  of  the  bronzed  Yukon, 
Nor  spared  the  red  men  one  dim  ray 
Of  light  to  lead  them  on  their  way. 

XXVII 

And  then  the  red  men  filled  the  lands 
With  wailing  for  just  one  faint  ray 
35 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Of  light  to  guide  them  home,  that  they 

Might  wash  once  more  their  blood-red  hands. 

But  God  said,    ' '  Yonder,  far  away 

Down  yon  Yukon,  your  broken  day  ! 

Go  gather  it  from  out  the  night  ! 

That  fitful,  fearful  Northern  Light, 

Is  all  that  ye  shall  ever  know 

To  guide  which  way  you  will  to  go. 

XXVIII 

Ye  shall  not  see  my  face  again, 
But  ye  shall  see  cold  death  instead, 
This  land  hath  sinned,  this  land  is  dead  ; 
Ye  drenched  your  beauteous  land  in  blood, 
And  now  behold  the  wild,  white  rain 
Shall  fall  until  a  drowning  flood 
Shall  fill  all  things  above,  below, 
And  wash  away  the  smell  of  blood 
And  weave  a  piteous  shroud  of  snow, 
In  graveyard  silence,  ever  so  !  " 

XXIX 

The  red  men  say  that  then  the  rain 
Drowned  all  the  fires  of  the  world, 
Then  drowned  the  fires  of  the  moon ; 
That  then  the  sun  came  not  again, 
Save  in  the  middle  summer  noon, 
When  hot,  red  lances  they  had  hurled 
Are  hurled  at  them  like  fiery  rain, 
Till  Yukon  rages  as  a  main. 

XXX 

With  bated  breath  these  skin-clad  men 
Tell  why  the  big-nosed  moose  foreknew 
The  flood ;  how,  bandy-legged  he  flew 
Far  up  high  Saint  Elias,  how, 
Down  in  the  slope  of  his  left  horn, 
The  raven  rested,  night  and  morn  ; 
How  in  the  hollow  of  his  right, 
The  dove-hued  moose-bird  nestled  low 

36 


AS   IT   WAS    IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Until  they  touched  the  utmost  height ; 
How  dove  and  raven  soon  took  flight 
And  winged  them  forth  and  far  away  ; 
But  how  the  moose  did  stay  and  stay, 
His  great,  sad  eyes  all  wet  with  tears, 
And  keep  his  steeps  two  thousand  years. 

XXXI 

He  heard  the  half  nude  red  men  say, 
Close  hudled  to  the  flame  at  night, 
How  in  the  hollow  of  a  palm 
A  woman  and  a  water  rat, 
That  dreadful,  darkened,  drowning  day, 
Crept  close  and  nestled  in  their  fright ; 
And  how  a  bear,  tame  as  a  lamb, 
Came  to  them  in  the  tree  and  sat 
The  long,  long,  drift-time  to  the  sea, 
The  while  the  wooing  water  rat 
Made  love  to  her  incessantly  ; 
How  then  the  bear  became  a  priest 
And  married  them  at  last,  how  then 
Of  them  was  born  the  shortest,  least 
Of  all  the  children  of  all  men, 
And  yet  most  cunning  and  most  brave 
Of  all  who  dare  the  bleak  north  wave. 

XXXII 

What  tales  of  tropic  fruit !     No  tale 
But  of  some  soft,  sweet,  sensuous  clime, 
Of  love  and  lovely  maiden' s  trust  — 
Some  peopled,  pleasant,  palm-hung  vale 
Of  everlasting  summer  time  — 
And,  too,  the  deadly  sin  of  lust ; 
Forbidden  fruit,  shame  and  disgust  ! 

XXXIII 

And  whence  the  story  of  it  all, 
The  palm  land,  love  land  and  the  fall  ? 
Was  '  t  born  of  ages  of  desire 
From  such  sad  children  of  the  snows 

37 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

For  something  fairer,  better,  higher  ? 
God  knows,  God  knows,  God  only  knows. 
But  I  should  say,  hand  laid  to  heart 
And  head  made  bare,  as  I  should  swear, 
These  piteous,  sad-faced  children  there 
Knew  Eden,  the  expulsion,  knew 
The  deluge,  knew  the  deluge  true  ! 

XXXIV 

And  what  though  this  be  surely  so  ? 
Just  this  :    I  know,  as  all  men  know, 
As  few  before  this  surely  knew  — 
Just  this,  and  count  it  great  or  small, 
The  best  of  you  or  worst  of  you, 
The  Bible,  lid  to  lid,  is  true  ! 

CANTO  VI. 

t 

I 

The  year  waxed  weary,  gouty,  old  ; 
The  crisp  days  dwindled  to  a  span, 
The  dying  year  it  fell  as  cold 
As  dead  feet  of  a  dying  man. 
The  hard,  long,  weary  work  was  done, 
The  dark,  deep  pits  probed  to  the  bone, 
And  each  had  just  one  tale  to  tell. 
Ten  thousand  miners  all  as  one, 
Agnostic,  Christian,  infidel, 
All  said,  despite  of  creed  or  class, 
All  said  as  one,   ' '  As  surely  as 
The  Bible  is,  the  deluge  was, 
What  e'er  the  curse,  what  e'er  the  cause  ! " 

II 

What  merry  men  these  miners  were, 
And  mighty  in  their  pent-up  force ; 
They  wrought  for  her,  they  thought  of  her, 
Of  her  alone,  or  night  or  day, 
In  tent  or  camp,  their  one  discourse  — 
The  Love  three  thousand  miles  away, 
The  Love  who  waked  to  watch  and  pray. 

38 


X 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 
III 

Yet  rude  were  they  and  brutal  they, 
Their  love  a  blended  love  and  lust, 
Born  of  this  modern,  lustful  day  ; 
You  could  but  love  them  for  their  truth, 
Their  frankness  and  their  fiery  youth, 
And  yet  turn  from  them  in  disgust, 
To  loathe,  to  pity  and  mistrust. 

IV 

The  Siege  of  Troy  knew  scarce  such  men  ; 
The  cowards  had  not  voyaged  then, 
The  weak  had  died  upon  the  way. 
They  sang,  they  sang  some  like  to  this, 
Of  love,  as  love  has  been,  still  is  :  — 
"  I  say  risk  all  for  one  sweet  kiss  ; 
I  say  '  t  were  better  risk  the  fall, 
Like  Romeo,  to  venture  all 
And  boldly  climb  to  deadly  bliss. 
How  brave  that  savage,  Sabine  way  ; 
What  warriors,  heroes,  came  of  it ! 
Their  songs  are  ringing  to  this  day, 
Their  loves  the  love  of  Juliet, 
Of  Portia,  Desdemona,  yea, 
All  storied  loves  yet  sung  or  writ, 
Of  man's  strong  arm  or  woman's  wit. 

V 

1 '  Then  take  her,  lover,  sword  in  hand, 
Hot-blooded  and  red-handed,  clasp 
Her  sudden,  stormy,  where  you  stand, 
And  lift  her  in  your  iron  grasp 
And  kiss  her,  kiss  her  till  she  cries 
From  keen,  sweet,  happy,  killing  pain. 
Aye,  kiss  her  till  she  seeming  dies : 
Aye,  kiss  her  till  she  dies,  and  then, 
Why,  kiss  her  back  to  life  again. 

VI 

1  *  I  love  all  things  that  truly  love, 
I  love  the  low-voiced  turtle  dove 

39 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THK   BEGINNING 

In  wooing  time,  he  woos  so  true  ; 

His  soft  notes  fall  so  overfull 

Of  love  they  thrill  me  through  and  through  ; 

But  when  the  thunder- throated  bull 

Upheaves  his  head  and  shakes  the  air 

With  eloquence  and  battle's  blare 

And  roars  and  tears  the  earth  to  woo, 

I  like  his  warlike  wooing  too. 

VII 

"  But  best  to  love  that  lover  is 
Who  loves  all  things  beneath  the  sun 
Then  finds  all  fair  things  in  just  one, 
And  finds  all  fortune  in  one  kiss. 
How  wisely  born,  how  more  than  wise, 
How  wisely  learned  must  be  that  soul 
Who  loves  all  earth,  all  Paradise, 
All  peoples,  places,  pole  to  pole, 
Yet  in  one  kiss  includes  the  whole  ! 

VIII 

* '  Give  me  a  lover  ever  bold, 
A  lover,  strong,  keen,  sword  in  hand, 
Like  to  those  white-plumed  knights  of  old 
Whose  loves  held  honor  in  the  land  ; 
Those  men  with  hot  blood  in  their  veins 
And  hot,  swift,  iron  hand  to  kill  — 
Those  women  loving  well  the  chains 
That  bound  them  fast  against  their  will  ; 
Yet  loved  and  lived  —  are  living  still." 

IX 

Enough  :    the  bronzed  man  launched  his  boat, 
A  faithful  Dwarf  clutched  at  the  oar, 
And  Boreas  began  to  roar 
As  if  to  break  his  burly  throat. 
Down,  down  by  basalt  palisade, 
Down,  down  by  bleakest  ice-piled  isle  f 
The  mute,  dwarf  water  rat  afraid  ? 
The  water  rat  it  could  but  smile 

40 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

To  hear  the  cold,  wild  waters  roar 
Against  his  savage,  Arctic  shore. 

X 

But  now  he  listened,  gave  a  shout, 
A  startled  cry,  akin  to  fear. 
The  hand  of  God  had  reached  swift  out 
And  locked,  as  in  an  iron  vise,  , 

The  whole  white  world  in  blue,  bright  ice, 
And  daylight  scarce  seemed  living  more. 
The  day,  the  year,  the  world,  lay  dead, 
With  star-tipt  candles  foot  and  head  ; 
Great  stars  that  burn  a  whole  half  year 
Stood  forth,  five-horned,  and  near,  so  near ! 

XI 

The  ghost-white  day  scarce  drew  a  breath, 
The  dying  day  shrank  to  a  span  ; 
There  was  no  life  save  that  of  man 
And  woolly  dogs  —  man,  dogs  and  death ! 
The  sun,  a  mass  of  molten  gold, 
Rolled  feebly  up,  then  sudden  rolled 
Right  back  as  in  a  beaten  track 
And  left  the  white  world  to  the  moon 
And  five-homed  stars  of  gleaming  gold  ; 
Such  stars  as  sang  in  icy  rune, 
And  oh,  the  cold,  such  killing  cold 
As  few  have  felt  and  none  have  told ! 

XII 

And  now  he  knew  the  sun's  last  light 
Lay  on  yon  ice-shaft,  steep  and  far, 
Where  stood  one  bold,  triumphant  star, 
And  he  would  dare  the  gleaming  height, 
Would  see  the  death-bed  of  the  day, 
Whatever  fate  might  make  of  it. 
A  foolish  thing,  yet  were  it  fit 
That  he  who  dared  to  love,  to  say, 
To  live,  should  look  the  last  of  light 
Full  in  the  face,  then  go  his  way 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

j 

All  silent  into  lasting  night ; 

As  he  had  left  her,  on  her  height. 

XIII 

He  climbed,  he  climbed,  he  neared  at  last 
The  Golden  Fleece  of  flitting  light ! 
When  sudden  as  an  eagle's  flight  — 
An  eagle  frightened  from  its  nest 
That  keeps  the  topmost,  rock-reared  crest  — 
It  swooped,  it  drooped,  it,  dying,  passed 
As  on  some  sunny,  poppy  day 
The  Mariposa  gathers  gold 
Then  careless  brushes  it  away, 
Like  star-dust  when  the  day  is  old, 
So  passed  his  light  and  all  was  night. 
Some  stars  or  spattered  flecks  of  gold 
Flashed  from  the  far  and  fading  wings 
That  kept  the  sky,  like  living  things  — 
Then  oh,  the  cold,  the  cruel  cold  ! 
The  light,  the  life  of  him  had  passed, 
The  spirit  of  the  day  had  fled  ; 
The  lover  of  God's  first-born,  Light, 
Descended,  mourning  for  his  dead. 
The  last  of  light,  the  very  last 
He  deemed  that  he  should  look  upon 
Until  God's  everlasting  dawn 
Beyond  this  dread  half-year  of  night 
Had  fled  forever  from  his  sight. 

XIV 

'  Twas  death  to  go,  thrice  death  to  stay, 
Turn  back,  go  southward,  seek  the  sun  ? 
Yea,  better  die  in  search  of  light, 
Die  boldly,  face  set  forth  for  day, 
As  many  dauntless  men  have  done, 
Than  wail  at  fate  and  house  with  night, 
Slow  waiting  death  in  doleful  plight. 

XV 

Some  woolly  dogs,  a  skin-clad  chief  — 
His  trained  thews  stood  him  now  in  stead  — 

42 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Broad  snow-shoes,  then  a  laden  sled.     .     . 
That  moon  was  as  a  brazen  thief 
That  robs  to  revel  and  carouse  ! 
It  followed,  followed  everywhere  ; 
He  hid  his  face,  that  moon  was  there. 
Such  painful  light,  such  piteous  pain  ! 
It  broke  into  his  very  brain, 
As  breaks  a  burglar  in  a  house, 
To  rob  and  revel  and  carouse. 

XVI 

Scarce  seen,  a  change  came,  slow,  so  slow  ! 
The  moon  sank  slowly  to  the  right, 
The  lower  world  of  gleaming  white 
Took  on  a  somber  band  of  woe, 
A  wall  of  umber  'round  about, 
So  dim  at  first  you  could  but  doubt 
That  change  there  was  day  after  day  — 
Nay,  nay,  not  day,  I  can  but  say 
Sleep  after  sleep,  sleep  after  sleep  — 
That  band  grew  darker,  deep,  more  deep, 
Until  there  girt  a  great  dark  wall, 
A  low,  black  wall  of  ebon  hue, 
Oppressive,  deathlike  as  a  pall  ; 
It  walked  with  you,  close  compassed  you, 
While  not  one  thread  of  light  shot  through, 
Above  the  black  a  gird  of  brown 
Soft  blending  into  amber  hue, 
And  then  from  out  the  cobalt  blue 
Great,  massive,  golden  stars  hung  down 
Like  towered  lights  of  mountain  town. 

XVII 

And  now  the  moon  moved  gaunt  and  slow, 
Half  veiled  her  hollow,  hungry  face 
In  amber,  kept  unsteady  pace, 
High  up  her  star  set  wall  of  snow 
Nor  scarcely  deigned  to  look  below. 

43 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

I 

XVIII 

Then  far  beyond,  above  the  night, 
Above  the  umber,  amber  hue, 
Above  the  lean  moon's  blare  and  blight, 
One  mighty  ice  peak  towered  through. 
One  gleaming  peak,  as  white,  as  lone 
As  one  could  think  the  great  white^throne, 
Stood  up  against  the  cobalt  blue 
And  kept  companion  with  the  stars, 
Despite  black  walls  or  prison  bars  ! 

XIX 

That  wall,  that  hideous  prison  wall, 
That  blackness,  umber,  amber  hue, 
It  follows  you,  encircles  you, 
It  mantles  as  a  hearse's  pall, 
Your  eyes  lift  to  the  star-tipt  sky, 
You  lift  your  frosted  face,  you  pray 
That  e'en  the  sickly  moon  might  stay 
A  time,  if  but  to  see  you  die. 
Yet  how  it  blinds  you,  body,  soul  ! 
You  can  no  longer  keep  control, 
Your  feebled  senses  fall  astray  ; 
You  cannot  think,  you  dare  not  say. 

XX 

And  now  such  under  gleam  of  light, 
Such  blazing,  flaming,  frightful  glare  ; 
Some  like  a  horrid,  dread  nightmare, 
Such  hideous  light,  born  of  such  night ! 
It  burst,  with  changeful  interval, 
From  out  the  ice  beneath  the  wall, 
From  out  the  groaning,  surging  stream 
That  breathed,  or  tried  to  breathe,  in  vain, 
That  struggled,  strangled,  shrieked  with  pain ! 

'  Twas  as  if  he  of  Patmos  read, 
Sat  by  with  burning  pen  and  said, 
With  piteous  and  pathetic  voice, 

*  The  earth  shall  pass  with  rustling  noise." 

44 


AS  IT  WAS  IN  THE  BEGINNING 

XXI 

Swift  out  the  ice-crack,  fiery  red, 

Swift  up  the  umber  wall  and  black, 

Then  'round  and  'round,  up,  down  and  back, 

The  sudden  lightning  sped  and  sped, 

Until  the  walls  hung  burnished  red, 

An  instant  red,  then  yellow,  white, 

With  something  more  than  earthly  light. 

XXII 

It  binds  your  eyes  until  they  burn, 
Until  you  dare  not  look  or  turn, 
But  cry  with  him  who  saw  and  told 
The  story  of,  the  glory  of 
The  jasper  walls,  the  streets  of  gold 
Where  trail  God's  unseen  garments  hem 
The  holy  New  Jerusalem. 

XXIII 

Then  while  he  trudged  he  tried  to  think, 
And  then  another  new  born  light, 
Or  red  or  yellow,  blue  or  white, 
Burst  up  from  out  the  very  brink 
Of  where  he  passed  and,  left  or  right, 
It  burnished  yet  again  the  walls  ! 
Then  up,  straight  up  against  the  stars 
That  seemed  as  jostled,  rent  with  jars  ! 
Then  silent  night.     Where  next  and  when  ? 
Then  blank,  black  interval,  and  then  — 
And  oh,  those  blank,  dread  intervals, 
This  writing  on  the  umber  walls  ! 

XXIV 

The  burning  Borealis  passed, 
The  umber  walls  fell  down  at  last 
And  left  the  great  cathedral  stars, f 
The  five-horned  stars,  blent,  burnished  bars. 

XXV 

The  moon  resumed  all  heaven  now, 
She  shepherded  the  stars  below 

45 


AS  IT  WAS  IN  THE   BEGINNING 

Along  her  wide,  white  steeps  of  snow, 
Nor  stooped  nor  rested,  where  or  how. 
She  bared  her  full  white  breast,  she  dared 
The  sun  e  'er  show  his  face  again. 
She  seemed  to  know  no  change,  she  kept 
Carousal  constantly,  nor  slept, 
Nor  turned  a  breath,  nor  spared 
The  fearful  meaning,  the  mad  pain, 
The  weary  eyes,  the  poor,  dazed  brain 
That  came  at  last  to  feel,  to  see 
The  dread,  dead  touch, of  lunacy. 

XXVI 

How  more  than  beautiful  the  shroud 
Of  dead  Light  in  the  moon-mad  north 
When  great  torch-tipping  stars  stand  forth, 
Five-horned,  as  marshalled  for  the  fight 
Against  glad  resurrecting  Light  ! 

XXVII 

The  moon  blares  as  mad  trumpets  blare 
To  marshalled  warriors  long  and  loud  : 
The  cobalt  blue  knows  not  a  cloud, 
But  oh,  beware  that  moon,  beware 
Her  ghastly,  graveyard,  moon-mad  stare  ! 

XXVIII 

Beware  white  silence  more  than  white  ! 
Beware  the  groaning  stream  below, 
Beware  the  wide,  white  seam  of  snow, 
Where  trees  hang  white  as  hooded  nun  — 
No  thing  not  white,  not  one,  not  one. 
All  day,  all  day,  all  night,  all  night  — 
Nay,  nay,  not  yet  or  day  or  night, 
Just  whiteness,  whiteness,  ghastly  white 
Made  doubly  white  by  that  mad  moon, 
And  sweet  stars  jangled  out  of  tune  ! 

XXIX 

At  last  he  saw,  or  seemed  to  see, 
Above,  beyond,  another  world. 
46 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Far  up  the  icy  path  there  curled 

A  red- veined  cloud,  a  canopy 

That  topped  the  fearful,  ice-built  peak 

That  seemed  to  prop  the  very  porch 

Of  God  ;  and  then,  as  if  a  torch 

Burned  dim,  there  flashed  a  fiery  streak, 

A  flush,  a  blush  on  heaven's  cheek  ! 

XXX 

The  dogs  sat  down,  men  sat  the  sled 

And  watched  the  flush,  the  blush  of  red. 

The  little  woolly  dogs  they  knew, 

Yet  scarce  knew  what  they>were  about. 

They  thrust  their  noses  up  and  out, 

They  drank  the  light,  what  else  to  do  ? 

Their  little  feet,  so  worn,  so  true, 

Could  scarce  keep  quiet  for  delight. 

They  knew,  they  knew,  how  much  they  knew, 

The  mighty  breaking  up  of  night  ! 

Their  bright  eyes  sparkled  with  such  joy 

That  they  at  last  should  see  the  light ! 

The  tandem  sudden  broke  all  rule, 

Swung  back,  each  leaping  like  a  boy 

Let  loose  from  some  dark,  ugly  school  — 

Leapt  up  and  tried  to  lick  his  hand, 

And  stand  as  happy  children  stand. 

XXXI 

How  suddenly  God's  finger  set 
A  crimson  flower  on  that  height 
Above  the  battered  walls  of  night  ! 
A  little  space  it  flourished  yet, 
And  then  His  angel,  His  first-born, 
Burst  through  the  bars,  as  primal  morn  ! 

XXXII 

His  right  hand  held  a  sword  of  flame, 
His  left  hand  javelins  of  light, 

47 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

And  swift  down,  down,  right  down  he  came  ! 
His  red  wings  wide  as  the  wide  sky, 
And  right  and  left,  and  hip  and  thigh, 
He  smote  the  marshalled  hosts  of  night 
With  all  his  majesty  and  might. 

XXXIII 

The  scared  moon  paled  and  she  forgot 

Her  force  and  place  and  turned  to  fly ; 

The  ice-heaved  palisades,  the  high 

Heaved  peaks  that  propt  God's  house,  the  stars 

That  flamed  above  the  prison  bars, 

As  battle  stars  with  fury  frought, 

Were  burned  to  ruin  and  were  not. 

XXXIV 

Then  glad  earth  shook  her  raiment  wide, 
As  some  proud  woman  satisfied, 
Tiptoed,  exultant,  till  her  form, 
A  queen  above  some  battle  storm, 
Blazed  with  the  glory,  the  delight 
Of  battle  with  the  hosts  of  night. 
And  night  was  broken,  Light  at  last 
Lay  on  the  Yukon.     Night  had  past. 


CANTO  VII. 


The  days  grew  longer,  stronger,  yet 
The  strong  man  grew  then  as  a  child. 
Too  hard  the  tension  and  too  wild 
The  terror  ;  he  could  not  forget. 
And  now  at  last  when  Light  was,  now 
He  could  not  see,  nor  lift  his  eyes, 
Nor  lift  a  hand  in  any  wise. 
It  was  as  when  a  race  is  won 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

By  some  strong  favorite  athlete 
Who  sinks  down  dying  at  your  feet. 

II 

The  red  chief  drew  him  on  and  on 
To  his  own  lodge  up  white  Yukon 
And  housed  him  kindly  as  his  own, 
Blind,  broken,  dazed,  and  so  alone  ! 
The  low,  round  lodge  was  desolate, 
And  deathly  cold  by  night,  by  day. 
Poor,  hungered  children  of  the  snows, 
They  heaped  the  fire  as  he  froze, 
Did  all  they  could,  yet  what  could  they 
But  pity  his  most  piteous  fate, 
And  pitying,  silent,  stare  and  wait  ? 

Ill 

His  face  was  ever  to  the  wall 

Or  buried  in  his  skins  ;  the  light  — 

He  could  not  bear  the  light  of  day 

Nor  bear  the  heaped-up  flame  at  night  — 

Not  bear  one  touch  of  light  at  all. 

There  are  no  pains,  no  sharp  death  throes, 

So  dread  as  blindness  of  the  snows. 

IV 

He  thought  of  home,  he  thought  of  her, 
Thought  most  of  her,  and  pictured  how 
She  walked  in  silent  splendor  where 
Warm  sea  winds  twined  her  heavy  hair 
In  great  Greek  braids  piled  fold  on  fold 
Or  loosely  blown,  as  poppy  gold. 

V 

And  then  he  thought  of  her  afar 
Mid  follies,  and  his  soul  at  war 
With  self,  self  will  and  iron  fate 
Grew  as  a  blackened  gulf  of  hate  ! 
And  then  he  prayed  forgiveness,  prayed 
As  one  in  sin  and  sore  afraid. 

49 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

VI 

And  praying  so  he  dreamed,  he  dreamed 
She  sat  there  looking  in  his  face, 
Sat  silent  by  in  that  dread  place, 
Sat  still,  sat  weeping  silently. 
He  saw  her  tears  and  yet  he  knew, 
The  blind  man  knew  he  could  not  see  ; 
And  then  he  seemed  to  hear  her  tears, 
To  hear  them  steal  her  loose  hair  through 
And  gently  fall,  as  falls  the  dew  — 
The  still,  small  rain  of  summer  morn, 
That  makes  for  harvest  yellow  corn. 

VII 

He  raised  his  hand,  he  touched  her  hair  ; 
He  did  not  start,  he  did  not  say  ; 
It  seemed  that  she  was  surely  there  ; 
He  only  questioned  would  she  stay. 
How  glad  he  was  !     Why,  now,  what  care 
For  hunger,  blindness,  blinding  pain, 
Could  he  but  touch  her  hair  again  ? 

VIII 

He  heard  her  rise,  give  quick  command 
To  patient,  skin-clad,  savage  men 
To  heap  the  wood,  come,  go,  and  then 
Go  feed  his  woolly  friends  at  hand, 
To  bring  fresh  stores,  still  heap  fresh  flame, 
Then  go,  then  come,  as  morning  came. 

IX 

All  seemed  so  real !     He  dared  not  stir, 
Lest  he  might  break  this  dream  of  her. 
How  holy,  holy  sweet  her  voice, 
Like  benediction  o  'er  the  dead  ! 
So  glad  he  was,  so  grateful  he, 
In  thanking  God  most  fervently, 
Forgot  his  plight,  forgot  his  pain 
And  deep  at  heart  did  he  rejoice  ; 
Yet  prayed  he  might  not  wake  again 
To  peril,  blindness,  piteous  pain. 

50 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

x 

Then,  as  he  hid  his  face,  she  came 
And  leaned  quite  near  and  took  his  hand. 
'  Twas  cold  'twas  very  cold,  'twas  thin 
And  bony,  black,  just  skin  and  bone, 
Just  bone  and  wrinkled  mummy-skin. 
She  held  it  out  against  the  flame, 
Then  pressed  it  with  her  two  warm  hands. 
It  seemed  as  she  could  feel  the  sands 
6f  life  slow  sift  to  shadow  land. 
Close  on  his  hurt  eyes  she  laid  hand, 
The  while  she  wearied,  nodded,  slept. 
The  flame  burned  low,  the  wind's  wild  moan 
Awakened  her.     Cold  as  a  stone 
His  starved  form,  shrunken  to  a  shade, 
Stretched  in  the  darkness  and,  dismayed, 
She  put  the  skins  back  and  she  crept 
Close  down  beside  and  softly  laid 
Her  warm,  strong  form  to  his  and  slept, 
The  while  her  dusk  men  vigil  kept. 

XI 

That  long,  long  night,  that  needed  rest ! 
Then  flames  at  morn  ;  her  precious  store 
Heaped  hard  by  on  the  earthen  floor 
While  mute,  brown  men,  starved  men,  stood  by 
To  wait  the  slightest  breath  or  sigh 
Or  sign  of  wakening  request  — 
What  silence,  patience,  trust !     What  rest  ! 
Of  all  good  things  I  say  the  best 
Beneath  the  sun  is  sleep  —  and  rest. 

XII 

She  slowly  wakened  from  her  sleep 
To  find  him  conscious  in  her  keep ! 
What  food  for  all,  what  feast  for  all 
To  chief  or  slave,  or  great  or  small, 
Around  the  flaming,  glowing  heap  — 
Such  reach  of  limb,  such  rest,  such  rest, 
Such  appetite,  such  hungry  zest ! 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THK   BEGINNING 
XIII 

Why,  he  had  gone,  had  gladly  gone 
In  quest  of  His  eternal  Light, 
Beyond  all  dolours,  that  dread  night, 
Had  she  not  reached  her  hand  and  drawn, 
Hard  drawn  jhim  back  and  held  him  so, 
Held  him  so  hard  he  could  not  go. 
And  yet  he  lingered  by  the  brink, 
As  dulled  and  dazed  as  you  can  think. 
Long,  long  he  lingered,  helpless  lay, 
A  babe,  a  broken  pot  of  clay. 

XIV 

She  made  a  broader  couch,  she  sat 
All  day  beside  and  held  his  hand 
Lest  he  might  sudden  slip  away. 
And  she  all  night  beside  him  lay, 
Lest  the  last  grain  of  sinking  sand 
Might  in  the  still  night  slip  and  pass, 
With  none  at  hand  to  turn  the  glass. 

XV 

And  did  the  red  men  prate  thereat  ? 
Why,  they  had  laid  them  down  and  died 
For  her,  these  simple  dusky  sons 
Of  nature,  children  of  the  snows, 
Born  where  the  ice-bound  river  runs, 
Born  where  the  Arctic  torrent  flows. 
Look  you  for  evil  ?     Look  for  ill 
Or  good,  you  find  just  what  you  will. 

XVI 

He  spake  no  more  than  babe  might  speak  ; 
His  eyes  were  as  the  kitty' s  eyes 
That  open  slowly  with  surprise 
Then  close  as  if  to  sleep  a  week  ; 
But  still  he  held,  as  if  he  knew, 
The  warm,  strong  hand,  the  healthful  hand, 
The  dauntless,  daring  hand  and  true, 
Nor,  while  he  waked,  would  his  unfold, 

52 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

But  held,  as  drowning  man  might  hold 
Who  hopes  no  more  of  life  or  land, 
But,  as  from  habit,  clutches  hand. 

XVII 

Once,  as  she  thought  he  surely  slept, 
She  slowly  drew  herself  aside, 
He  thrust  his  hand  as  terrified, 
Caught  back  her  hand,  kissed  it  and  wept. 
Then  she,  too,  wept,  wept  tears  like  rain, 
The  very  first,  warm,  welcome  tears, 
Drew  in  her  breath,  put  by  her  fears 
And  felt  she  had  not  dared  in  vain. 
Yet  day  by  day,  hard  on  the  brink 
He  hung  with  half  averted  head, 
As  silent,  listless  as  the  dead, 
As  sad  to  see  as  she  could  think. 
Their  low  lodge  hung  the  terraced  steep 
Above  the  wide,  wild,  groaning  stream 
That,  like  some  monster  in  a  dream, 
Cried  out  in  broken,  breathless  sleep ; 
And  looking  down,  night  after  night, 
She  saw  leap  forth  a  sword  of  light. 

XVIII 

She  guessed,  she  knew  the  flaming  sword 

That  turned  which  way  to  watch  and  ward 

And  guard  the  wall  and  ever  guard 

The  Tree  of  Life,  as  it  is  writ. 

The  hand,  the  hilt,  she  could  not  see, 

Nor  yet  the  true,  life-giving  tree, 

Nor  cherubim  that  cherished  it, 

But  yet  she  saw  the  flaming  sword, 

As  written  in  the  Book,  the  Word. 

XIX 

She  held  his  hand,  he  did  not  stir, 

And  as  she  nightly  sat  and  sat 

And  silent  gazed  and  guessed  thereat. 

53 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

His  fancies  seemed  t6  come  to  her, 
She  could  not  see  the  Tree  of  Life, 
How  fair  it  grew  or  where  it  grew, 
But  this  she  knew  and  surely  knew, 
That  gleaming  sword  meant  holy  strife 
To  keep  and  guard  the  Tree  of  Life. 

XX 

Oh,  flaming  sword,  rest  not  nor  rust  ! 

The  Tree  of  Life  is  hewn  and  torn, 

The  Tree  of  Life  is  bowed  and  worn, 

The  Tree  of  Life  is  in  the  dust. 

Hew  brute  man  down,  hew  branch  and  root, 

Till  he  may  spare  the  Tree  of  Life, 

The  pale,  the  piteous  woman  wife  — 

Till  he  shall  know  as  know  he  must 

Her  name  is  not  a  name  for  lust. 

XXI 

She  watched  the  wabbly  moose  at  morn 
Climb  steeply  up  the  further  steep, 
Huge,  solitary  and  forlorn. 
She  saw  him  climb,  turn,  look  and  keep 
Scared  watch,  this  wild,  ungainly  beast, 
This  mateless,  lost  thing  and  the  last 
That  roamed  before  and  since  the  flood  — 
That  climbed  and  climbed  the  topmost  hill    / 
As  if  he  heard  the  deluge  still. 

XXII 

The  sparse,  brown  children  of  the  snow 
Began  to  stir,  as  sap  is  stirred 
In  springtime  by  the  song  of  bird, 
And  trudge  by,  wearily  and  slow, 
Beneath  their  load  of  dappled  skins 
That  weighed  them  down  as  weighty  sins. 

XXIII 

And  oft  they  paused,  turned  and  looked  back 

Along  their  desolate  white  track, 

With  arched  hand  raised  to  shield  their  eyes  - 

54 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Looked  back  as  if  for  something  lost 
Or  left  behind,  of  precious  cost, 
Sad-eyed  and  silent,  mutely  wise, 
As  just  expelled  from  Paradise. 

XXIV 

How  sad  their  dark,  fixed  faces  seemed, 
As  if  of  long-remembered  sins  ! 
They  listless  moved,  as  if  they  dreamed, 
As  if  they  knew  not  where  to  go 
In  all  their  wide,  white  world  of  snow. 
She  could  but  think  upon  the  day 
God  made  them  garments  from  the  skins 
Of  beasts,  then  turned  and  bade  them  go, 
Go  forth  as  willed  they,  to  or  fro. 

XXV 

Between  the  cloud-capped  walls  of  snow, 
A  wide-winged  raven,  croaking  low, 
Passed  and  repassed,  each  weary  day, 
And  would  not  rest,  not  go,  not  stay, 
But  ever,  ever  to  and  fro, 
As  when  forth  form  the  ark  of^old  ; 
And  ever  as  he  passed,  each  day 
Let  fall  one  note,  so  cold,  so  cold 
It  seemed  to  strike  the  ice  below 
And  break  in  fragments  hard  as  fate  ; 
It  fell  so  cold  and  desolate. 

XXVI 

At  last  the  sun  hung  hot  and  high, 
Hung  where  that  heartless  moon  had  hung. 
A  dove-hued  moose  bird  sudden  sung 
And  had  glad  answering  hard  by  ; 
The  icy  steeps  began  to  pour 
Mad  tumult  down  upon  the  deep. 
The  great  Yukon  began  to  roar, 
As  if  with  pain  in  broken  sleep. 
The  breaking  ice  began  to  groan, 
The  very  mountains  seemed  to  moan, 

55 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 


Then,  bursting,  like  a  cannon's  boom, 
The  great  stream  broke  its  icy  bands 
And  rushed  and  ran  with  outstretched  hands 
That  laid  hard  hold  the  willow  lands, 
Rent  wide  the  somber  gopher  gloom  . 
And  roared  for  room,  for  room  and  room  ! 

XXVII 

The  stalwart  moose  climbed  hard  his  steep, 
Climbed  till  he  wallowed,  brisket  deep, 
In  soft'ning,  sinking  steeps  of  snow, 
Then  raging,  turned  to  look  below. 
He  tossed,  shook  his  ungainly  head, 
Blew  blast  on  blast  through  his  huge  nose, 
Then,  crazed  with  savage  rage  and  fright, 
He  climbed,  climbed  to  the  highest  height 
As  if  he  knew  the  flood  once  more 
Had  come  to  swallow  sea  and  shore. 

XXVIII 

The  waters  sank,  the  man  uprose, 
A  boat  of  skins,  an  Eskimo, 
Then  down  from  out  the  world  of  snow 
They  passed  to  seas  of  calm  repose 
Where  wide  sails  waited,  warm  sea  wind, 
For  mango  isles  and  tamarind. 

CANTO  VIII. 

I 

They  passed  to  soft  Samoas*  seas 

Where  giants  strode  in  naked  strength, 

Where  long-limbed  women  loomed  full  length, 

And  loved  beneath  their  tropic  trees. 

Hand  still  in  hand,  close  side  by  side, 

They  sailed,  they  sailed  which  way  they  cared, 

Nor  questioned  nor  one  wish  denied, 

Nor  kept  one  sweetest  scene  unshared. 

The  while  they  sought  and  saw  and  knew 

Just  nature,  beautiful  and  true  : 

56 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

And  then  the  toy  world,  dwarf  Japan  — 
The  childish  soul,  the  baby  man. 

II 

Of  all  fair  trees  to  look  upon, 
Of  all  trees  pleasant  to  the  sight 
Give  me  the  Poet's  tree  in  white  — 
Pink  cherry  trees  of  blest  Nippon 
With  lovers  passing  to  and  fro  — 
Pink  cherry  lanes  of  Tokio  : 
Ten  thousand  cherry  trees  and  each 
Hung  white  with  Poet's  plaint  and  speech. 

Ill 

Of  all  fair  lands  to  look  upon, 
To  feel,  to  breathe,  at  Orient  dawn, 
I  count  this  baby  land  the  best, 
Because  here  all  things  rest  and  rest 
And  all  men  love  all  things  most  fair 
And  beautiful  and  rich  and  rare  ; 
And  women  are  as  cherry  trees 
With  treasures  laden,  brown  with  bees. 

IV 

Of  all  loved  lands  to  look  upon 

Give  me  this  love  land  of  Nippon, 

Its  bright,  brave  men,  its  maids  at  prayer, 

Its  peace,  its  carelessness  of  care. 

A  mobile  sea  of  silver  mist 

Sweeps  up  for  morn  to  mount  upon ; 

Then  yellow,  saffron,  amethyst  — 

Such  changeful  hues  has  blessed  Nippon  ! 

See  but  this  sunrise  then  forget 

All  scenes,  all  suns,  all  lands  save  one, 

Just  matin  sun  and  vesper  sun  ; 

This  land  of  inland  seas  of  light ; 

This  land  that  hardly  recks  of  night. 

V 

The  vesper  sun  of  blest  Nippon 
Sinks  crimson  in  the  yellow  sea  ; 

57 


AS  IT  WAS  IN  THE  BEGINNING 

The  purple  butterfly  is  gone, 
The  rainbow  bird  housed  in  his  tree  — 
Hushed,  as  the  last  loved,  trembling  note 
Still  thrills  its  sweet,  inspired  throat  — 
Hushed  as  the  harper's  weary  hand 
Waits  morn  to  waken  and  command. 

VI 

Fast  homeward  bound,  brown,  busy  feet 
In  wooden  shoon  clang  up  the  street ; 
But  not  through  all  the  thousand  year 
In  Buddha's  temple  may  you  hear 
One  step,  see  hue  of  sun  or  sea, 
Though  wait  you  through  eternity. 

VII 

Behold  brown,  kneeling  penitents  ! 
What  perfumed  place  of  silent  prayer  ! 
Burned  santalum,  sweet  frankincense  ! 
Pale,  yellow  priests  pass  here  and  there 
And  silent  lisp  with  bended  head 
The  Golden  Rule  on  scrolls  of  gold 
As  gentle,  ancient  Buddhists  read 
These  precepts  sacred  unto  them 
And  watched  the  world  grow  old,  so  old, 
Ere  yet  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem. 

VIII 

How  leaps  the  altar's  forky  flame  ! 
How  dreamful,  dense,  the  sweet  incense, 
As  pale  priests  burn,  in  Buddha's  name, 
Red-written  sins  of  penitents  — 
Mute  penitents  with  bended  head 
And  unsaid  sins  writ  deep  in  red. 

IX 

Now  slow  a  priest  with  staff  and  scroll, 
Barefoot,  as  mendicant  and  old  — 
You  sudden  start,  you  lift  your  head, 
You  hear  and  yet  you  do  not  hear, 

58 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

A  sound,  a  song,  so  sweet,  so  dear 
It  well  might  waken  yonder  dead. 
His  staff  has  touched  the  sacred  bowl 
Of  copper,  silver,  shot  with  gold 
And  wrought  so  magic-like  of  old 
That  all  sweet  sounds,  or  east  or  west, 
Sought  this  still  hollow  where  to  rest. 

X 

And  you,  you  lean,  lean  low  to  hear  ; 

You  doubt  your  ears,  you  doubt  your  eyes, 

Your  hand  is  lifted  to  your  ear, 

You  fear,  how  cruelly  you  fear 

The  melody  may  die  —  it  dies  — 

Dies  as  the  swan  dies,  as  the  sun 

Dies,  bathed  in  dewy  benison. 

4 

XI 

It  lives  again  ;  you  breathe  again  ! 
What  cadences  that  speak,  that  stir, 
Take  form  and  presence,  as  of  her 
Whom  first  you  loved,  ere  yet  of  men. 
It  utters  essence  as  a  sound  ; 
As  Santalum  sends  from  the  ground 
For  devotee  and  worshipper 
Where  saints  lie  buried,  balm  and  myrrh. 

XII 

But  now  so  low,  so  faint,  so  low 
You  lean  to  hear  yet  hardly  hear. 
Again  your  hand  is  to  your  ear, 
Your  lips  are  parted,  leaning  so, 
And  now  again  you  catch  your  breath  ! 
Such  breath  as  when  you  lie  becalmed 
At  sea,  and  sudden  start  to  feel 
A  cooling  wave  and  quickened  keel 
And  see  your  tall  ship  kiss  the  shore. 
You  hear,  you  more  than  hear,  you  feel, 
As  when  the  white  wave  shimmereth. 
Your  love  is  at  your  side  once  more, 

59 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

An  essence  of  some  song  embalmed, 
hidden  in  the  house  of  death. 


XIII 

Now  low,  so  low,  so  soft,  so  still, 
As  when  a  single  leaf  is  stirred, 
As  when  some  doubtful  matin  bird 
Dreams  russet  morning  decks  his  hill  — 
Then  nearer,  clearer,  lilts  each  note 
And  longer,  stronger  swells  the  wave  — 
Ten  thousand  dead  have  burst  the  grave, 
An  angel's  song  in  every  throat  ! 
The  forky  flame  turns  and  returns 
To  burn  and  burn  red  sins  away  ; 
Such  incense  on  the  altar  burns 
As  some  may  breathe  but  none  may  say, 
Though  cherished  to  their  dying  day.    x 

XIV 

And  now  the  sandaled  pilgrims  fall 

With  faces  to  the  jeweled  floor  — 

The  incense  darkens  as  a  pall, 

As  clouds  that  darken  more  and  more. 

You  dare  not  lift  your  bended  head  — 

The  silence  is  as  if  the  dead 

Alone  had  passed  the  temple  door. 

And  now  the  melody,  the  song  ! 

So  stronger  now,  so  strong,  so  strong  ! 

XV 

The  black  smokes  of  the  ashen  urn 
Where  pale  priests  burn  red  sins  away 
Begin  to  stir,  to  start  to  turn, 
As  turns  some  evil  thing  abhorred  — 
To  seek  the  huge  bossed  copper  door  — 
An  evil  thing  that  dares  not  stay. 
The  while  the  rich  notes  roll  and  roar 
To  drive  dread,  burned  sins  out  before 
Calm  Dia-Busta,  the  adored, 
As  cherubim  with:  flaming  sword. 
60 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 
XVI 

And  far,  so  far,  such  rich  notes  roll 
That  barefoot  fishers  far  at  sea 
Fall  prone  and  pray  all  silently 
For  wife  and  babes  that  wait  the  strand, 
The  tugging  net  clutched  tight  in  hand, 
The  while  they  bow  a  space  *to  pray  ; 
For  every  asking,  eager  soul 
Knows  well  the  time  and  patiently 
It  lists,  an  hundred  leagues  away. 

XVII 

The  thousand  pilgrims  girt  in  straw 
That  press  Fujama's  holy  peak, 
Prone,  fasting,  penitent  and  meek, 
Hear  notes  as  from  the  stars  and  pray 
As  we  who  know  and  keep  the  law  — 
As  we  who  walk  Jerusalem 
With  pilgrim  step  and  pallid  cheek  : 
How  earnestly  they  silent  pray 
To  do  no  thing,  or  night  or  day 
They  would  not  others  do  to  them  ! 

XVIII 

And  wee,  brown  wives  on  high,  wild  steeps 
Of  terraced  plot  and  bamboo  patch 
Where  toil,  hard  toil,  incessant,  keeps 
Sweet  virtue,  sweet  sleep  and  a  thatch, 
They  hear  and  hold,  with  closer  fold, 
Their  bare,  brown  babes  against  the  cold. 
They  croon  and  croon,  with  soothing  care, 
To  babes  meshed  in  their  mighty  hair 
And  loving,  crooning,  breathe  a  prayer. 

XIX 

The  great  notes  pass,  pass  on  and  on, 
As  light  sweeps  up  the  doors  of  dawn, 
And  now  the  strong  notes  are  no  more, 
But  feebler  tones  wail  out  and  cry, 
As  sad  things  that  have  lost  their  way 
61 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

At  night  and  dare  not  bide  the  day 
But  turn  back  to  the  shrine  to  die 
And  steal  in  softly  through  the  door, 
And  gently  fade  along  the  floor. 

XX 

The  barefoot  priest  scarce  moves  a  hand, 

Faint  and  more  faint  the  last  notes  fall ; 

You  hear  them  now,  then  not  at  all, 

And  now  the  last  note  of  the  land 

Wails  out  as  when  a  baby  cries 

At  night,  and  at  the  altar  dies. 

How  sweet,  how  sad,  how  piteous  sweet 

This  last  note  at  the  bowed  monk's  feet 

That  dies  as  dies  some  holy  light  — 

A  mist  is  rising  to  the  eyes, 

So  loving  sad,  so  tearful  sweet, 

This  last,  lost  note,  —  Good  night,  good  night ! 

CANTO  IX. 

I 

They  lay  low-bosomed  on  the  bay 
Of  Honolulu  ; h  soft  the  breeze 
And  soft  the  dreamful  light  that  lay 
On  Honolulu's  sabbath  seas — 
The  ghost  of  sunshine  gone  away, 
Red  roses  on  the  grave  of  day. 

II 

Their  dusky  boatman  set  his  face 
From  out  the  argent,  opal  sea 
Tow'  rd  where  his  once  proud,  warlike  race 
Lay  housed  in  everlasting  dust. 
He  sang  low- voiced,  sad,  silently, 
In  listless  chorus  with  the  tide, 
Because  his  race  was  not,  because 
His  sun-born  race  had  dared,  defied 
The  highest,  holiest  of  all  laws 
62 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

And  so  fell  stricken  and  so  died  — 
Died  stricken  of  dread  leprosy 
Begot  of  lust — prone  in  the  dust — 
Degenerating  love  to  lust. 

Ill 

Sweet  sandal-wood  burned  bow  and  stern 
In  colored,  shapely  crates  of  clay, 
Sweet  sandal-wood  long  laid  away, 
I/Dng  caverned  with  dead  battle  kings 
Whose  dim  ghosts  rise  betimes  and  burn 
The  torch,  and  touch  sweet  taro  strings  — 

Such  giant,  stalwart,  stately  kings  ! 

i 

IV 

\ 

Sweet  sandal- wood,  long  ages  torn 
From  high -heaved,  cloud-capped  lava  steep, 
Then  hidden  where  dead  giants  keep 
Their  sealed  Walhalla,  waiting  morn  — 
Deep-hidden,  till  such  sweet  perfume 
Betrayed  their  long-forgotten  tomb. 


The  sea' s  perfume  and  incense  lay 
About,  above,  lay  everywhere  ; 
The  sea  swung  incense  up  the  air  — 
The  censer,  Honolulu  Bay  — 
And  then  the  song,  the  soft,  low  rune, 
So  sad,  as  if  dead  kings  kept  tune. 

VI 

The  moon  hung  twilight  from  each  horn, 

Soft,  silken  twilight  —  soft  to  touch 

As  baby  lips  —  and  over  much 

Like  to  the  baby  breath  of  morn. 

Huge,  five-horned  stars  swung  left  and  right 

O'er  argent,  opal,  amber  night. 

63 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 
VII 

What  changeful,  dreamful,  ardent  light, 
When  Mauna  Loa,  far  afield, 
Uprose  and  shook  his  yellow  shield 
Below  the  battlements  of  night  ; 
Below  the  Southern  Cross,  o'er  seas 
That  sang  deep,  silent  symphonies  ! 

VIII 

Far  lava  peaks  still  lit  the  night, 
Like  holy  candles  foot  and  head, 
That  dimly  burned  above  the  dead, 
Above  the  dead  and  buried  Light. 
There  was  such  perfume  of  the  sea, 
Such  Sabbath  breath,  soft,   silently, 
As  when  some  burning  censer  swings, 
As  when  some  surpliced  choir  sings. 

IX 

He  scarce  had  lived  the  whole  long  year, 
But  now  yon  mitred  tongues  of  flame 
That  tipt  the  star-lit  lava  peak 
Brought  back  such  fervor  to  his  cheek 
He  could  but  answer  to  his  name. 
He  could  but  heed,  he  could  but  hear 
That  call  across  the  lap  of  night 
From  tripple  mitred  tongues  of  Light, 
That  soulful,  silent,  perfumed  night. 
He  said  —  and  yet  he  said  no  word  : 
No  word  he  said,  yet  all  she  heard, 
So  close  their  souls  lay,  white,  so  white, 
That  holy  Honolulu  night. 

X 

Lies  yonder  Nemo's  Mount,  my  sweet, 
The  Promised  Land  beyond,  beyond 
The  grave  of  rest,  the  broken  bond, 
Where  manly  force  must  loose  control, 
Must  press  the  grapes  and  fill  the  bowl, 
Go  'round  and  'round,  rest,  rise  up,  eat, 
Tread  grapes  then  wash  the  wearied  feet  ?' 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 
XI 

' '  I  know  I  have  enough  of  bliss, 
I  know  full  well  I  should  not  dare 
To  ask  a  deeper  joy  than  this, 
This  scene,  your  presence,  this  soft  air, 
This  incense,  this  deep  sense  of  rest 
Where  long-sought,  sweet  Arcadia  lies, 
Against  these  gates  of  Paradise. 

XII 

"  And  yet,  my  own,  I  dare  ask  more. 
Lone  Adam  had  all  Paradise 
And  yet  how  poor  he  was,  how  poor, 
With  all  things  his  beneath  the  skies  ! 
Aye,  sweet^it  were  to  roam  or  rest, 
To  ever  rest  or  ever  roam 
As  you  might  reck  or  reckon  best  ; 
But,  Sweet,  there  comes  a  sense  of  home, 
Of  hearthstone,  happy  babes  at  play 
And  you  and  I  —  not  far  away. 

XIII 

' '  Nay,  do  not  turn  aside  your  face  — 
'  Be  fruitful  ye  and  multiply  ' 
Meant  all ;  it  meant  the  human  race, 
And  he  or  she  shall  surely  die 
Despised  and  rot  to  nothingness 
Who  does  not  love  the  little  dress, 
The  heaven  in  the  mother's  eyes, 
His  holy,  secret,  sweet  surprise 
The  time  she  tells  how  truly  blest, 
With  face  laid  blushing  to  his  breast. 

XIV 

1 '  How  flower-like  the  little  frock  — 
The  daffodil  forerunning  spring  — 
The  doll-like  shoes,  socks,  everything, 
And  each  a  secret,  secret  stored): 
And  yet  each  day  the  little  hoard, 
As  careful  merchants  note  their  stock, 

65 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

Is  noted  with  such  happy  care 
As  only  angel  mothers  share. 

XV 

' '  At  last  to  hear  her  rock  and  rock  — 
Behold  her  bowed  Madonna  face  ! 
She  lifts  her  baby  from  its  place, 
Pulls  down  the  crumpled,  dampened  frock, 
And  never  Cleopatra  guessed 
The  queenliness,  the  joy,  the  pride 
She  knows  with  baby  to  her  breast 
And  his  chub  fists  churned  either  side  ! 
The  bravest  breast  faith  ever  bared 
For  brother,  country,  creed  or  friend, 
However  high  the  aim  or  end, 
Was  that  brave  breast  a  baby  shared 
With  kicking,  fat  legs  half  unfrocked, 
The  while  sweet  mother  rocked  and  rocked. ' ' 

XVI 

As  when  first  blossoms  ken  first  bees, 
As  when  the  squirrel  hoists  high  sail 
And  leaps  his  world  of  maple  trees 
And  quirks  his  saucy,  tossy  tail ; 
As  when  Vermont's  tall  sugar  trees 
First  feel  sweet  sap  then  don  their  leaves 
In  haste  —  a  million  Mother  Bves  ; 
As  when  strange  winds  stir  sleeping  ships 
Long  ice-bound  fast  in  Arctic  seas  ; 
So  she,  the  strong,  full  woman  now, 
Felt  new  life  thrilling  breast  and  brow 
And  tingled  to  her  finger  tips. 
Her  limbs  reached  out,  outstretched  her  head 
As  if  to  say  —  she  nothing  said. 
But  something  of  the  tender  light 
That  lit  her  girl  face  that  first  night, 
The  time  she  pulling  poppies  sat 
The  sod  and  saw  the  golden  sheep 
Safe  housed  within  the  hollowed  deep 
Was  hers ;  and  how  she  blushed  thereat  ! 
Yet  blushing  so,  still,  silent,  sat. 

66 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 
XVII 

He  paused  ;  the  low,  soft  monotone 

Of  song,  the  half-dipt,  heedless  oar 

Kept  chorus,  and,  then  as  before, 

For  now  he  knew  him  not  alone : 

God's  pity  for  the  breasts  that  bear 

A  little  babe  then  banish  it 

To  stranger  hands,  to  alien  care, 

To  live  or  die  as  chance  sees  fit. 

Poor,  helpless  hands,  reached  anywhere, 

As  God  gave  them  to  reach  and  reach, 

With  only  helplessness  in  each  ! 

Poor  little  hands,  pushed  here,  pushed  there 

And  all  night  long  for  mother's  breast. 

Poor  restless  hands  that  will  not  rest 

And  gather  strength  to  reach  out  strong 

To  mother  in  the  rosy  morn  ! 

Nay,  nay,  they  gather  scorn  for  scorn 

And  hate  for  hate  the  lorn  night  long  — 

Poor  dying  babe  !  to  reach  about 

In  blackness,  as  a  thing  cast  out ! 

XVIII 

God's  pity  for  the  thing  of  lust 
That  bears  a  frail  babe  to  be  thrust 
Forth  from  her  arms  to  alien  thrall, 
As  shutting  out  the  light  of  day, 
As  shutting  off  God's  very  breath  ! 
But  thrice  God's  pity,  let  us  pray, 
For  her  who  bears  no  babe  at  all, 
But  gaily  leads  up  Fashion's  Hall 
And  grinning  leads  the  dance  of  death. 
That  sexless,  steel-braced  breast  of  bone 
Is  like  to  some  assassin  cell, 
A  whited  sepulcher  of  stone, 
A  graveyard  at  the  gates  of  hell, 
A  mart  where  motherhood  is  sold, 
A  house  of  murders  manifold  ! 

67 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

XIX 

"  Of  all  cursed  things,  thrice  doubly  cursed, 
I  count  this  painted  thing  the  worst : 
This  barren,  blighted,  cursed  fig  tree, 
This  shameless,  jeweled  thing  of  shame 
Who  barters  life  for  noisy  name, 
This  unclean  thing  so  more  than  she 
Who  trails  the  street  in  misery  ! 

XX 

"And  who  the  best,  who  best  of  all 
The  famed  four  hundred,  great  or  small  — 
Four  hundred,  thousand,  million,  aye, 
Of  all  this  broad,  brave  earth  today  ? 
Why,  such  grand  Gracchi  Mother,  she 
Who  knew  not  gem  nor  jewelry 
Yet  ranged  her  jewels  at  her  side 
With  all  a  Roman  Mother's  pride, 
And  reckoned  hers  the  richest  home 
On  all  the  seven  hills  of  Rome. 

XXI 

"  I  know  the  world  is  good,  my  love, 
But  weak,  as  man  grown  weak  of  mind, 
And  he  who  wishes  well  his  kind 
Will  show  respect  unto  its  will, 
And  walk  somewhat  its  way,  will  find 
Some  common  ground,  nor  walk  above, 
Nor  strangely  turn  and  strangely  talk, 
But  speak  somewhat  as  others  speak. 
Man  is  not  wicked,  man  is  weak, 
Is  but  as  some  poor  tottling  child 
That  cries  out  if  not  well  beguiled  — 
Starts  terrified  at  honest  talk 
And  falls,  ere  yet  it  knows  to  walk. 

XXII 

' '  He  who  would  save  the  world  must  stand 
Hard  by  the  world  with  steel  mailed  hand 
68 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

And  save  by  smiting  hip  and  thigh. 

The  world  needs  truth,  tall  truth  and  grand, 

And  keen  sword-cuts  that  thrust  to  kill. 

The  man  who  climbed  the  windy  hill 

To  talk  is  talking,  climbing  still, 

And  would  not  help  or  hurt  a  fly. 

The  stoutest  swimmer  and  most  wise 

Swims  somewhat  with  the  sweeping  stream, 

Yet  leads,  leads  unseen  as  a  dream. 

The  weak  fool  turns  his  back  and  flies, 

The  strong  fool  breasts  the  flood  and  dies. 

XXIII 

I  know  you  scorn  the  narrow  deeds 
Of  men  who  make  their  god  of  creeds  — 
Yond  men  as  narrow  as  the  miles 
That  bank  their  rare  acacia  isles  ; 
But  come,  my  Lone  Star,  come  with  me 
To  yon  far  church,  high-built  and  fair, 
For  God  is  there,  as  everywhere, 
Or  Arctic  snow  or  Argent  sea  ; 
And  if  these  learned  men  may  not  know, 
For  all  their  books  and  boast  and  show, 
That  here,  right  here,  the  womb  of  night 
Gave  us  God's  first-born,  holy  Light, 
Why,  pity,  nor  yet  blame  them  quite  : 
Because  they  know  not,  cannot  read, 
Save  as  commanded  by  some  creed. 

XXIV 

What  eons  they  may  have  to  wait 
Within  their  wall,  without  the  gate, 
Nor  once  dare  lift  their  eyes  to  look 
Beyond  their  blinding  creed  and  book 
We  know  not,  but  we  surely  know 
Yon  lava-lifted,  star-tipt  height 
Is  bannered  still  by  that  first  Light. 
We  know  this  phosphorescent  glow 
At  every  dip  of  dripping  oar 
Is  but  lost  bits  of  Light  below 

69 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

The  primal  darkness  rush  and  roar 
Where  moves  God's  spirit  as  of  yore. 
Aye,  here,  right  here,  from  out  the  night, 
God  spake  and  sad  :   '  Let  there  be  light. ' 

XXV 

' '  And  dare  ask  doubting,  creed-made  men 
Why  we  so  surely  know  and  how  ? 
Why,  here  'the  waters,'  now  as  then 
Why  here  '  the  waters, '  then  as  now  ?     > 
We  know  because  we  read,  yet  read 
So  little  that  we  much  may  heed. 
We  read  :   '  God' s  spirit  moved  upon 
The  waters '  ere  that  burst  of  dawn. 
What  waters  ?     Why,  '  The  Waters,'  these, 
These  soundless,  silent,  sun-down  seas. 

XXVI 

* '  The  morning  of  the  world  was  here, 
'  Twas  here  '  He  made  dry  land  appear,' 
Here  '  Darkness  lay  upon  the  deep.' 
What  deep  ?     This  deep,  the  deepest  deep 
That  ever  rolled  beneath  the  sun 
When  night  and  day  they  were  as  one 
And  dreamless  day  lay  fast  asleep 
Rocked  in  this  cradle  of  the  deep. 

XXVII 

"  Hear  me  !     How  happy,  long  I  laid 
My  body,  soul,  at  your  brave  feet ! 
How  long,  how  happy,  Sweet,  my  Sweet, 
Close  at  your  side  by  death's  cold  door, 
Or  here  where  tropic  passions  pour : 
And  have  you  ever  been  betrayed  ? 
What  hand,  what  finger  have  I  laid 
Against  your  garment's  hem  ?     What  word, 
What  sign  have  you  yet  seen  or  heard 
That  said  you  should  not  still  remain 
My  Shrine,  my  Saint  without  a  stain  ? 
70 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 
XXVIII 

Hear  me  !     How  pitiful  the  plea 
Of  men  who  plead  for  temperance, 
Of  men  who  know  not  one  first  sense 
Of  self-control,  yet,  fire-shod, 
Storm  forth  and  rage  intemperately 
At  sins  that  are  but  as  a  breath, 
Compared  with  their  low  lives  of  death  ! 

XXIX 

And  oh,  for  prophet's  tongue  or  pen 
To  scourge,  not  only,  and  accuse 
The  childless  mother,  but  such  men 
As  know  their  wives  but  to  abuse  ! 
Give  me  the  brave,  child-loving  Jew, 
The  full-sexed  Jew  of  either  sex, 
Who  loves,  brings  forth  and  nothing  recks 
Of  care  or  cost,  as  Christians  do  — 
Dulled  souls  who  will  not  hear  or  see 
How  Christ  once  raised  His  lowly  head 
And,  as  rebuking,  gently  said, 
The  while  he  took  them  tenderly, 
little  children  come  to  me.' 


XXX 

'  Go  forth  among  this  homeless  race, 
This  landless  race  that  knows  no  place 
Or  name  or  nation  quite  its  own, 
And  see  their  happy  babes  at  play, 
Palace  or  Ghetto,  rich  or  poor 
As  thick  as  birds  about  your  door 
At  morn  some  sunny  Vermont  May 
Then  think  of  Christ  and  these  alone. 
Yet  we  deride,  we  jeer,  we  gibe 
To  see  their  plenteous  babes  ;  we  say 

'  Behold  the  Jew  and  all  his  tribe  !  ' 
Yet  Solomon  upon  his  throne 
Was  not  more  kingly  crowned  than  they, 
More  surely  born  to  lord,  to  lead, 
To  sow  the  land  with  Abram'  s  seed  ; 


AS  IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

Because  their  babes  are  healthful  born 
And  welcomed  as  the  welcome  morn. 

XXXI 

4 '  Hear  me  this  prophecy  and  heed  ; 
Bxcept  we  cleanse  us  kirk  or  creed, 
Except  we  wash  us  word  and  deed 
The  Jew  shall  rule  us,  reign  the  Jew. 
And  just  because  the  Jew  is  true, 
Is  true  to  nature,  true  to  truth  ; 
Is  clean,  is  chaste,  as  trustful  Ruth 
Who  bore  us  David,  Solomon  — 
The  Babe,  that  far,  first  Christmas  dawn. 

XXXII 

11  You  shrink,  are  angered  at  my  speech  ? 
So  be  it  then  ;  there  lies  the  beach, 
And  up  the  beach  the  ways  divide. 
I  would  not  leave  the  truth  untold 
To  win  the  whole  world  to  my  side : 
And  yet,  to  win  you  for  my  bride 
Would  count  down  blood,  as  counting  gold. 
High  yonder  lifts  the  clear  church  light 
For  seamen,  souls  sea- tossed  at  night. 

XXXIII 

1 '  I  see  the  spiked  Agave' s  plume, 
The  pepsin  lane,  acacia's  blown 
Far  up  beyond  tall  cocoa  trees 
That  gird  the  pretty,  peaceful  town. 
That  lane  leads  up,  the  church  looks  down  — 
There  lie  the  ways,  now  which  of  these  ? 
Bear  with  me,  I  must  dare  be  true. 
The  nation,  aye,  the  Christian  race, 
Here  fronts  its  Sibyl,  face  to  face, 
And  I  must  say,  say  now  to  you, 
Whate'er  the  cost,  of  fortune,  fame, 
The  Christian  is  a  thing  of  shame  — 
Must  say  because  I  know  it  true, 
The  better  Christian  is  the  Jew. 
72 


AS   IT   WAS    IN    THE    BEGINNING 

XXXIV 

"  Behold  the  pale,  wan,  piteous  wife 
Of  him  who  pleads  his  perfect  life  ! 
Her  step  is  slow,  she  waits  for  death  ; 
How  thin  is  she,  how  full  is  he  ! 
Hear  her  wan  baby's  hollow  cry  ! 
He  scarce  can  cry  above  his  breath. 
Poor  babe  !  begotten  but  to  die, 
Or,  harder  fate,  live  feebly  on, 
The  shame  of  mother,  curse  of  state  — 
Half  witted,  worthless,  jest  of  fate. 

XXXV 

4 'Behold,  God's  image,  fashioned  tall 
As  heaven  stooping  down  to  crawl 
Upon  his  belly  as  a  snake, 
Ere  yet  his  sense  is  well  awake, 
Ere  yet  his  force  has  come,  ere  yet 
The  child- wife  knows  but  to  regret. 
And  lo  !  the  greatest  is  the  least  ; 
For  man  lies  lower  than  the  beast. 

XXXVI 

'  *  Such  pity  that  pure  love  should  lie 
Prone,  strangled  in  its  bed  of  shame 
And  no  man  dare  to  publish  why  ! 
Such  pity,  that  in  slain  Love's  name 
The  weak  bring  forth  the  weaker,  bring 
The  leper,  idiot,  anything 
That  lawless  passion  can  beget  ! 
Sweet  pity,  pity  for  them  all  — 
The  child  that  cries,  child- wife  that  dies 
Ere  yet  the  soul  has  waked  to  see 
The  weaklings  that  may  linger,  yet 
A  feeble  day  to  feebly  fall  — 
As  food  for  sword  or  cannon  ball, 
For  prison  wall  or  charity 
Or  fruit  of  gruesome  gallows  tree  ! 

73 


AS   IT   WAS.  IN   THE   BEGINNING 

XXXVII 

"  But  pity  most  poor  man,  blind  man 
Whose  passsions  stoop  him  to  a  span. 
Why,  man,  each  well-born  man,  was  born 
To  dwell  in  everlasting  morn, 
To  top  the  mountain  as  a  tower 
A  thousand  years  of  pride  and  power, 
To  face  the  four  winds  with  the  face 
Of  youth  until  full  length  he  lies  — 
Still  God-like  even  as  he  dies. 

XXXVIII 

1 1  Could  I  but  teach  lorn  man  to  live, 
Could  I  but  teach  blind  man  to  see, 
But  teach  lost  man  to  truly  love, 
And  wisely,  he  would  turn  to  me 
And  give  great  thanks,  and  ever  give 
Glad  heed,  as  to  some  soft- voiced  dove 
That  speaks  as  prophet  from  above. 

XXXIX 

"  The  burning  cities  of  the  plain, 
The  high-built  harlot,  Babylon, 
The  bannered  mur'ls  of  Rome  undone, 
That  rose  again  and  fell  again 
To  ashes  and  to  heaps  of  dust, 
All  died  because  man  lived  in  vain  ; 
Because  man  sold  his  soul  to  lust, 
Because  man  could  not,  would  not  love, 
Live,  stand  erect  and  look  above. 

XL 

1 '  And  count  what  crimes  have  come  of  it ! 
I  say  all  sins,  or  said  or  writ, 
Lie  gathered  here  in  this  dark  pit 
Of  man' s  unbridled,  mad  desire, 
Where  her  frail  form  is  ruthless  thrown, 
As  on  some  sacrificial  stone, 
And  burned  as  in  a  living  fire 
To  leave  but  ashes,  rue  and  ire. 

74 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 


Aye,  even  crimes  as  yet  unnamed 
Are  born  of  man's  unbridled  lust. 
The  wildest  beast  man  ever  tamed, 
Or  ever  yet  has  learned  to  know, 
The  vilest  beast  would  know  disgust 
Could  it  but  know  how  low,  how  low 
God's  image  sinks  in  muck  and  slime, 
In  crimes  so  deeper  than  all  crime, 
In  slime  that  hath  not  yet  a  name, 
And  yet  man  knows  no  whit  of  shame  ! 

XLII 

Poor,  weak,  mad  man,  so  halt,  so  blind  ! 
Poor,  weak,  mad  man  that  must  carouse 
And  prostitute  what  he  should  house 
And  husband  for  his  coming  kind  ! 
Behold  the  dumb  beasts  at  glad  morn, 
Clean  beasts  that  hold  them  well  in  hand  ! 
How  nobler  thus  to  lord  the  land, 
How  nobler  thus  to  love  your  race, 
To  house  its  health  and  strength  and  grace, 
Than  rob  the  races  yet  unborn 
And  build  new  Babylons  to  scorn  ! 


"  I  say  that  each  man  has  aright, 
The  right  the  beast  has  to  be  born 
Full-flowered,  beauteous,  free  and  fair 
As  wide-winged  bird  that  rides  the  air  ; 
Not  as  a  babe  that  cries  all  night, 
Cries,  cries  in  darkness  for  such  light 
As  man  should  give  it  at  its  birth . 
I  say  the  poor  babe  has  a  right, 
The  right,  at  least,  of  a  wild  beast — 
Aye,  red  babe,  black  babe,  west  or  east, 
To  rise  at  birth  and  lord  the  earth, 
Strong-limbed,  long-limbed  and  fair  and  free 
As  supple  beast  or  tossing  tree. 

75 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

CANTO  X. 

I 

Hear  me,  my  Morning,  May,  my  June  — 
My  Midnight,  Midday,  Afternoon  — 
These  truths  I  have  from  one  who  knew 
The  deeps  of  truth,  from  one  who  drew 
My  senses  to  his  high  control, 
As  tides  turn  to  the  high,  white  moon, 
Because  he  was  so  pure  so  true, 
So  soulful,  such  unselfish  soul, 
With  passions  in  one  perfect  whole. 

II 

He  loved,  he  wooed,  he  won,  he  wed, 
And  that  was  all,  aye,  that  was  all 
For  days,  for  months,  maybe  for  years. 
He  still  would  woo,  put  by  her  fears, 
Make  her  his  friend,  let  what  befall, 
And  bide  her  will  and  bridal  bed  ; 
Bide  her  sweet  will  and  loving,  bide 
Blest  dalliance  with  his  maiden  bride. 

Ill 

One  night  in  May,  such  soulful  night 
Of  cherry  blossoms,  birds,  such  birds 
As  burst  with  song,  that  sing  outright 
Because  so  glad  they  cannot  keep 
Their  song,  but  sing  out  in  their  sleep  ! 
Such  noisy  night,  a  cricket's  night, 
A  night  of  Katydids,  of  dogs 
That  bayed  and  bayed  the  vast,  full  moon 
In  chorus  with  the  tuneful  frogs  — 
With  May's  head  laid  in  lap  of  June. 
How  hot,  how  sultry  hot  the  room  ! 
Their  garden  tree  in  perfect  bloom 
Gave  out  far  Nippon' s  full  perfume  — 
The  night  grew  warm  and  very  warm, 
And  warm  her  warm,  full-bosomed  form  ! 

76 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 
IV 

How  vital,  virile,  strong  with  life, 
The  world  without,  the  maiden  wife 
How  wondrous  fair,  full  at  his  side 
And  ever  still  a  maiden  bride  ! 
The  man  uprose,  caught  close  a  skin, 
A  lion's  skin,  threw  this  about 
His  great,  Herculean,  pent-up  form, 
Thrust  feet  into  his  slippered  shoes, 
Then,  with  a  careless,  loosened  gown 
He  strode  the  wide  room  up  and  down, 
The  skin's  claws  flapping  at  his  thews. 
He  turned,  he  caught  her  suddenly 
And  instant  wrapped  her  close  within  ; 
Then  down  the  stairs  and  back  and  out 
Beneath  a  blossomed  apple  tree  ; 
Beneath  the  tree  he  pressed  her  form, 
He  was  so  warm,  so  very  warm, 
He  held  her  close  as  close  could  be 
Beneath  the  blossomed  apple  tree. 

V 

' '  He  held  her  in  his  strong  right  arm, 
Held  her  so  hard  he  shook  the  tree 
Because  he  trembled  mightily 
And  shook  in  his  hard,  happy  pain  — 
Because  he  quivered  as  a  pine 
When  tropic  storm  sweeps  up  the  line, 
As  when  some  swift  horse,  harnessed  low, 
Frets  hard  and  bites  the  bit  to  go. 
She  laughed  such  low,  sweet  laugh,  and  said, 
The  while  she  raised  her  pretty  head, 
'  Please,  please  be  gentle,  good  to  me, 
And  please  don't  hurt  the  apple  tree.' 

VI 

11  The  warm  land  lay  as  in  a  swoon, 
Full  length,  the  happy  lap  of  June  — 
A  fair  bride  fainting  with  delight 
And  fond  forgetfulness  with  night. 

77 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

How  warm  the  world  was  and  how  wise 
The  world  is  in  its  love  of  life, 
Its  hate  of  harshness,  hate  of  strife, 
Its  love  of  Eden,  peace  that  lies 
In  love-set,  leaf-sown  Paradise : 

VII 

How  generous,  how  good  is  night ! 
How  warm  this  garden  was,  how  warm 
With  life,  with  love,  in  any  form  ! 
Two  lowly  crickets,  clad  in  black, 
Came  shyly  forth,  shrank  sudden  back  — 
Then  chirped  in  chorus,  side  by  side  ; 
And  oh,  their  narrow  world  was  wide 
As  oceans,  light  their  hearts  as  air, 
And  oh,  their  little  world  was  fair, 
And  oh,  their  little  world  was  warm 
Because  each  had  a  lover  there, 
Because  they  loved  and  didn't  care. 

VIII 

1  How  languid  all  things  with  delight, 
With  sensuous  longings,  sweet  desire 
That  burned  as  with  immortal  fire, 
Immortal  love  that  burns  to  live 
And  lives  to  burn,  to  take,  to  give, 
Create,  bring  forth,  and  loving  share 
With  God  the  fruitage,  flesh  or  flower  — 
Just  loving,  loving,  bud  or  bower,  * 

Or  bee  or  birdling,  small  or  great, 
Just  loving,  loving  to  create, 
With  just  one  caution,  just  one  care  : 
That  all  creation  shall  be  fair. 

IX 

1  The  very  garden  wall  was  warm 
With  happy  sunshine  gone  away ; 
Each  vine,  with  eager,  reaching  arm, 
Clung  amorous,  tiptoed  to  kiss, 
With  eager  lips,  the  ardent  clay 

78 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

That  held  her  to  its  breast  of  bliss. 
White  apple  blossoms,  basking  lay, 
A  perfect  pathway  of  perfume  ; 
The  tiger  lily  scarce  had  room 
For  lilacs  bending  in  a  storm 
Of  laden  sweetness  more  than  sweet. 
The  moon  leaned  o'er  the  garden  wall 
Then  smiling  tiptoed  up  her  way 
The  while  she  let  one  moon  beam  fall 
Ix)ve-laden  in  the  sensuous  heat. 
So  sweet,  so  warm,  so  still  withall, 
Love  heard  pink  apple  blossoms  fall. 

X 

1 '  A  Katydid  laid  his  green  thigh 
Against  another  leaf-green  form 
And  so  began  to  sing  and  sigh, 
As  if  it  were  his  time  to  die 
From  stress  and  strain  of  passion's  storm - 
He,  too,  was  warm  and  very  warm. 

XI 

11  A  tasseled  hammock,  rich  and  red, 
Swung,  hung  hard  by,  and  foot  and  head, 
A  maple  tree,  a  cherry  tree. 
This  famed  tree  of  the  Japanese, 
Whatever  other  trees  may  be, 
Is  held  most  sacred  of  all  trees ; 
Not  quite  because  of  its  perfume, 
Not  all  because  of  its  rich  bloom, 
But  most  because  its  blossomed  boughs 
Not  only  list  to  lover's  vows 
But  true  to  lovers,  ever  true, 
Refuse  to  let  one  moonbeam  through. 

XII 

* 4  Here,  close  beneath  this  Nippon  tree, 
The  sweetest  tree  of  fair  Japan, 
The  lover's  tree  of  mystery, 
Where  not  a  thread  of  moonlight  lay, 

79 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

While  waves  of  moonlight  laughed  and  played 

At  hide  and  seek  the  other  way, 

He  threw  her,  full  length,  from  his  arm  ; 

Full  length,  then  raised  her  drooping  head, 

Threw  back  the  skin  and,  blushing  red, 

He  sought  to  say  —  He  nothing  said  ! 

He  nothing  did  but  blush  and  blush 

And  feel  his  hot  blood  rush  and  rush  — 

The  very  hammock  bed  was  warm  -— 

The  while  he  leaned  low  from  his  place 

And  felt  her  warm  breath  in  his  face. 

XIII 

1  *  Then,  all  abashed,  he  trembled  so 
He  clutched  the  hammock  hard  and  fast, 
He  held  so  hard  it  came,  at  last, 
To  shake,  to  swing  fast  to  and  fro. 
Such  awkwardness  !     He  clutched,  let  go, 
Then  clutched  so  hard  he  shook  the  tree 
Till  perfumed  silence  came  to  see — 
Till  fragrance  fell  upon  her  hair, 
Her  midnight  hair,  a  storm  of  snow. 
How  fair,  how  fair,  how  sensuous  fair, 
Half  hidden  in  a  great  snow  storm  : 
And  yet  how  warm,  how  more  than  warm  ! 

XIV 

* '  How  shamed  he  was  !     His  great  heart  beat 
As  beats  some  signal  for  retreat. 
This  stupid,  bravest  of  brave  men, 
Confused,  dismayed,  hung  down  his  head, 
Then  turned  and  helplessly  had  fled, 
Had  she  not  reached  a  timid  hand 
And,  half  as  pleading,  half  command 
And  half  way  laughing,  shyly  said, 
From  out  her  snood  of  snow  and  rain, 
'  Please  shake  the  Nippon  tree  again  ! ' 

XV 

' '  He  shook  the  tree  ;  a  snowy  shower 
On  laughing  face  and  loosened  hair  — 
80 


AS    IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

A  flash  of  perfume  and  of  flower  — 

Oh,  she  was  fair  and  very  fair  ! 

Then  with  a  sudden  strength  he  plucked 

His  red-ripe  cherry  from  the  tree, 

Wound  'round  the  skin  and  loosely  tucked 

The  folds  about  her  modestly, 

Then  on  and  up  with  giant  stride 

He  bore  his  blushing,  maiden  bride, 

So  cherry  ripe,  so  cherry  red, 

And  laid  her  in  her  bridal  bed  — 

Laid  perfumed  bride,  laid  flesh  and  flower. 

What  snows  strewn  in  her  ample  hair, 

What  low,  light  laughter  everywhere, 

Or  cherry  tree,  or  step  or  stair ! 

Just  low,  soft  laughter,  cherry  bloom, 

Just  love  and  love's  unnamed  perfume. 

XVI 

"  He  tossed  the  lion's  skin  aside, 
With  folded  arms  leaned  o'er  his  bride, 
Turned  low  the  lamp,  then  stood  full  length, 
Then  strode  in  all  his  supple  strength 
The  room  a  time,  tossed  back  his  hair, 
Then  to  his  bride,  swift  bent  to  her, 
And  kneeled  as  lowliest  worshipper. 

XVII 

1 '  And  then  he  threw  him  by  her  side, 
His  long,  strong  limbs  thrown  out  full  length, 
His  two  fists  full  of  housed-up  strength. 
What  pride,  what  manly,  kingly  pride 
That  he  had  conquered,  bravely  slain 
His  baser  self,  was  self  again  ! 

XVIII 

"  He  held  a  hand,  exceeding  small, 
He  breathed  her  perfume,  thrend  her  hair 
Across  her  breast  with  such  sweet  care 
He  scarce  did  touch  her  form  at  all. 
Again  he  rose,  strode  to  and  fro, 
Came  back  and  turned  the  light  quite  low. 
81 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

XIX 

1 '  He  bowed  his  face  low  to  her  feet ; 
Now  he  would  rise,  then  would  not  rise  ; 
He  breathed,  blushed  to  his  very  eyes, 
Then  sudden  pushed  aside  the  sheet 
And  kissed  her  pink  and  pearly  toes. 
Their  perfume  was  the  perfect  rose 
When  perfect  summer,  passion,  heat, 
Points  both  hands  of  the  clock  straight  up, 
As  when  we  lift  and  -drain  the  cup, 
As  when  we  lift  two  hands  and  pray, 
When\eve  have  lived  our  little  day, 
The  horologe  of  life  may  stop 
With  both  hands  pointing  to  the  top. 

XX 

"  Then  suddenly,  in  strength  and  pride, 
Full  length  he  threw  him  at  her  side 
And  caught  again  her  baby  hand, 
A  bird  that  had  escaped  his  snare. 
He  caught  it  hard,  he  held  it  there, 
He  begged  her  pardon,  begged  and  prayed 
She  would  forgive  him,  then  he  laid 
His  face  to  her  face  and  the  land 
Was  like  to  fairy  land.     They  lay 
As  children  when  outworn  at  play. 
As  children  bounding  from  their  bed, 
So  rested,  radiant,  satisfied 
With  self  and  selfishness  denied, 
They  laughed  with  early  morn,  they  led, 
So  full  of  soul,  of  strength  were  they, 
The  laughing  dance  of  life  all  day. 

XXI 

' '  All  day  ?     A  month  of  days,  and  each 
A  song,  a  sermon,  but  to  teach, 
A  holy  book  to  teach  the  truth 
Of  endless,  laughing,  joyous  youth. 
82 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

XXII 

' '  At  last,  one  springtime  morning,  she 
Held  close  his  hand  without  the  door, 
Would  scarce  let  go,  said  o'er  and  o'er, 

1  Good  bye  !     Come  early  back  to  me.' 
And  then,  close  up  beside,  as  one 
Might  eager  seek  some  stout  oak  tree 
When  storm  was  sudden  threatened,  she 
Put  up  her  pretty,  pouting  mouth, 
Half  closed  her  laughing,  saucy  eyes  — 
Such  lips !     Such  roses  from  the  south, 
The  warm,  south  side  of  Paradise  !  — 
He  kissed  her,  kissed  her  crimson  red, 
Then,  like  some  burglar,  turned  and  fled. 

XXIII 

"  '  Good  bye  !     Come  early  back  to  me.' 
Why,  he  heard  nothing  else  all  day, 
Saw  nothing  else,  knew  naught  but  this, 
Their  fond,  fond,  first  full-flowered  kiss, 
W herein  she  led  the  rosy  way, 
As  is  her  right,  as  it  should  be. 
He  looked  the  clock  hard  in  its  face 
A  hundred  times,  he  blushed,  he  smiled, 
Did  leave  his  desk  and  lightly  pace 
The  floor,  half  laughing,  as  a  child. 
A  million  kisses  !     He'd  had  one, 
Scarce  one,  his  joy  had  just  begun  ! 

XXIV 

' '  '  Come  early  ! '     He  was  at  the  gate 
And  through  the  door  ere  yet  the  day 
Had  kneeled  down  in  the  west  to  pray 
Its  vesper  prayer,  all  brimming  o'er 
And  blushing  that  he  could  not  wait 
To  kiss  her  just  once  more,  once  more  ! 
Take  breath,  then  kiss  her  o'er  and  o'er^. 

XXV 

1 '  By  some  sweet  chance  he  found  her  there, 
Close  fenced  against  the  winding  stair, 

83 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THK    BEGINNING 

With  no  escape,  behind,  before. 

She  put  her  lips  up  as  to  plead 

She  might  be  spared  a  little  space  ; 

But  there  was  mischief  in  her  face, 

A  world  of  frolic  and  of  fun, 

And  he  could  run  as  he  could  read, 

Aye,  he  could  read  as  he  could  run. 

And  then  she  pushed  her  red  lips  out : 

You  are  so  strong  you  hold  so  fast ! 

You  know  I  tried  to  lock  the  door '  — 

And  then  she  frowned,  began  to  pout 

And  sighed,  '  Dear,  dear,  't  is  not  well  done  ! ' 

And  then  he  caught  her  close,  and  then 

He  kissed  her,  once,  twice,  thrice  again  ! 

XXVI 

Then  days  and  many  days'of  this  — 

Ah  !  man,  make  merry  and  carouse 

Upon  your  way,  within  your  house, 

Hold  right  there  in  your  manly  hand 

Your  snow-white  maid  who  waits  your  kiss  ; 

Carouse  on  kisses  and  carouse 

In  soul,  the  livelong,  busy  day 

When  duty  tears  you  well  away, 

To  know  what  waits  you  at  the  gate, 

And  waiting  loves  and  loves  to  wait. 

XXVII 

'  And  how  to  kiss  ?     A  thousand  ways, 
And  each  way  new  and  each  way  true, 
And  each  way  true  and  each  way  new 
Each  day  for  thrice  a  thousand  days. 
How  loyal  he  who  loves,  how  grand  ! 
He  does  not  tell  her  overmuch, 
He  does  not  sigh  or  seek  to  touch 
Her  garment's  hem  or  lily  hand  ; 
She  is  his  soul,  his  life,  his  light, 
His  saint  by  day,  his  shrine  by  night. 
84 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 
XXVIII 

"  True  love  leads  home  his  maiden  bride 
Low-voiced  and  tender,  soft  and  true  ; 
He  leans  to  her  to  woo,  to  woo, 
As  if  she  still  turned  and  denied  — 
No  selfish  touch,  no  sated  kiss 
To  kill,  and  dig  the  grave  of  bliss. 

XXIX 

'  *  True  love  will  hold  his  maiden  bride 
As  nobles  hold  inheritance  ; 
He  will  not  part  with  one  small  pence 
Of  her  fair  strength  and  stately  pride, 
But  wait  serenely  at  her  side, 
Supremely  proud,  full,  satisfied. 

XXX 

* '  Why,  what  a  glorious  thing  to  view  ! 
Each  morn  a  maiden  at  your  side, 
The  one  fair  woman,  maid  and  bride, 
With  all  her  sweetness  waiting  you  ! 
How  wise  the  miser,  more  than  wise, 
Who  knows  to  count  and  keep  such  prize  ! 

XXXI 

"  How  glad  the  coming  home  of  him 
Who  knows  a  maiden  waits  and  waits, 
All  pulsing,  still,  within  his  gates, 
To  kiss  his  goblet's  golden  brim  ; 
How  joyous  still  to  woo  and  woo, 
To  read  the  old  new  story  through ! 

XXXII 

'  *  Ah  me,  behold  what  heritage  ! 
What  light  by  which  to  walk,  to  live 
This  age  when  lights  resplendent  burn, 
This  glorious,  shining,  new-born  age, 
When  love  can  bravely  give  and  give 
And  get  thrice  ten- fold  in  return, 
If  man  will  only  live  and  learn. 

85 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 
XXXIII 

* '  My  Soul,  my  Life,  you  taught  me  all 
I  know,  taught  me  to  love,  to  live, 
YOU  gave  me  all  I  now  would  give 
To  man,  to  turn  him  from  his  thrall  — 
To  turn  him  from  his  selfish  self, 
Teach  him  to  love  and  not  to  use, 
To  cherish,  cherish,  not  abuse, 
To  count  her  precious,  pure  as  dawn, 
Aye,  love  her  just  to  look  upon, 
As  meanest  miser  loves  his  pelf, 

Above  all  appetite  and  self. 

***** 

XXXIV 

* '  And  now  soft  colors  through  the  house 
Began  to  slowly  bud  and  bloom  ; 
The  wise,  the  fair,  far-seeing  spouse 
Began  to  deck  the  bridal  room  ; 
Began  to  build,  as  builds  a  bird, 
When  first  footfalls  of  spring  are  heard. 

XXXV 

' '  The  warm- toned  colors  of  the  wall, 
Then  gorgeous,  grass-like  carpetings 
Strown,  sown  with  lily,  pink  and  all 
That  nature  in  her  season  brings  ; 
Then  curtains  of  the  Orient, 
Then  silken  couch,  soft  as  a  kiss, 
Then  music  such  as  science  lent 
But  rarely  to  such  loves  as  this  : 
Mute  music,  where  not  hand  of  man 
Or  foot  of  man  is  seen  or  heard, 
Such  soft,  sweet  sound  as  only  can 
In  happy  blossom  time  be*heard  — 
Be  heard  from  happy,  nested  bird. 

XXXVI 

"  And  now  full  twelve  o'clock,  the  noon 
Of  faithful,  trustful  wedded  love, 
The  two  hands  pointing  straight  above. 
86 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING    , 

Their  noon  was  midnight  and  the  moon 
Came  through  the  silken  sheen  and  laid 
A  sword  of  silver  at  her  side. 
And  peace,  sweet  perfect  peace  was  hers 
As  when  nor  bird  nor  blossom  stirs 
And  she  was  never  more  afraid  ; 
The  moon  surrendered  to  the  maid, 
Drew  back  and  softly  turned  aside 
As  bridesmaid  turning  from  the  bride. 

XXXVII 

"All  voiceless,  noiseless,  tenderly 
He  pressed  beside  her,  took  her  hand  — 
He  took  her  from  the  leaning  moon, 
And  far  beyond  the  amber  sea, 
While  morning  stars  still  sang  in  rune, 
They  sailed  the  seas  of  afternoon  — 
The  far,  still  seas,  so  grandly  grand, 

Until  they  came  to  Baby  land. 

***** 

XXXVIII 

4 '  And  while  the  red  stars  sang  in  rune 
Far  down  dim  seas  of  afternoon, 
Because  of  treasured  strength  and  truth, 
God  trusted,  kissed  her  tenderly 
And  loving  took  her  soul  to  be 
In  partnership,  to  rear  the  youth, 
The  man-child  mightily  with  Him  — 

Or  cherubim  or  seraphim." 

***** 

XXXIX 

He  looked  far  up  the  mango  lane 
Below  the  wide-boughed  banyan  tree, 
He  looked  to  her,  then  looked  again, 
As  one  who  tried  yet  could  not  see 
But  this  one  straight  and  upward  way  : 
' '  I  said  two  ways,  here  seems  but  one, 
Or  set  of  moon  or  rise  of  sun, 

87 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

But  one  way  to  the  perfect  day, 
And  you  will  go,  and  I  must  stay  ? ' ' 
She  looked  far  up  the  steep  of  stone 
And  said  :   "I  go,  but  not  alone." 

XL 

The  boat's  prow  pushed  the  cocoa  shore, 
The  man  spake  not,  but,  leaning  o'er, 
Strong-armed,  he  drew  her  to  his  side 
And  was  not  anywise  denied. 
He  pointed  to  the  failing  fire 
That  still  tipt  lava  peak  and  spire, 
While  stars  pinned  down  the  robe  of  night : 
'  Twas  here  God  said,  ' '  Let  there  be  Light ! ' ' 

XLI 

A  little  church,  a  lava  wall, 
A  soft  light  looking  gently  down, 
The  Light  of  Christ,  the  second  light, 
Where  two  as  one,  passed  up  the  town. 
She  gave  her  hand,  she  gave  her  all, 
And  said,  as  such  proud  woman  might, 
In  ample  right,  in  hallowed  cause  : 
"  As  it  in  the  beginning  was, 
So  let  the  man-child  be  full  born 
Of  Love,  of  Light,  the  Light  of  Morn  !" 


SIT  LUX. 


88 


NOTES 


*  Nine  people  in  ten,  even  in  California  where  you 
find  the  widest  traveled  and  best  read  people  under 
the  path  of  the  sun,  will  tell  you  that  the  Golden 
Gate  owes  its  name  to  the  ingress  and  egress  of  the 
Argonauts. 

The  facts  are  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco  was  discov 
ered  and  named  by  a  party  of  priests  making  a  journey 
of  discovery  from  San  Diego  to  the  north. 

And  the  Golden  Gate  was  named  and  surveyed  by 
a  party  of  sun-bronzed  overland  explorers  with  the 
dust  of  three  thousand  miles'  travel  on  their  leathern 
habiliments,  years  before  the  discovery  of  gold. 

John  C.  Fremont,  in  his  book,  "  Memoirs  of  My 
Life, ' '  writes :  "To  this  gate  I  gave  the  name  of 
Chrysopylae  or  Golden  Gate,  for  the  same  reasons 
that  the  harbor  of  Byzantium  (Constantinople)  was 
named  the  Golden  Horn  (Chrysoceras)." 

b  The  California  poppy,  now  the  State  Flower  by 
act  of  the  Legislature,  was  called  The  Cup  of  Gold  or 
Holy  Grail  by  the  priests  and  Spanish  explorers. 
Long  years  later,  after  the  discovery  of  Alaska  and 
her  gold  fields  by  a  Danish  navigator,  Vitus  Bering 
in  the  service  of  Russia  (1745-9),  a  Russian  Prince 
of  culture,  took  the  seed  from  Fort  Ross,  California, 
where  Russia  was  then  trying  to  get  a  foot-hold  in  or 
der  to  grow  cereals  for  her  gold  miners  in  Alaska  and 
first  exploited  our  poppy  in  the  gardens  of  his  Im 
perial  master  at  Saint  Petersburg.  Hence  the  flower 
in  botany  now  bears  his  name.  It  is  a  generous  and 
prolific  plant,  and  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago 
I  was  delighted  to  find  it  already  getting  a  foothold 
on  the  hillsides  and  along  the  mountain  byways  of 
Italy  and  Southern  France. 

Mrs.  Fremont  says  4 '  The  golden  poppy  is  a  poetical 
expression  from  Mother  Earth  in  California,  of  the 
gold  hidden  in  her  bosom." 

The  golden  poppy  is  God's  gold, 

The  gold  that  lifts,  nor  weighs  us  down, 

The  gold  that  knows  no  miser's  hold, 
The  gold  that  banks  not  in  the  town, 

But  singing,  laughing,  freely  spills 

Its  hoard  far  up  the  happy  hills ; 

Far  up,  far  down,  at  every  turn,  — 

What  beggar  has  not  gold  to  burn  ! 

89 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

c  Few  indeed  are  the  survivors  of  the  Chilcoot  ter 
rors,  but  they  are  loyal  and  loving  as  veterans  of  the 
Civil  War.  Now  and  then  a  bent  old  man,  with  white 
flags  of  truce  fluttering  from  his  temples,  climbs  my 
steep  and  sits  silently  down  and  we  repeat  the  lines : 

And  you,  too,  banged  at  the  Chilcoot, 
That  rock-locked  gate  to  the  golden  door  ! 
These  thunder-built  steeps  have  words  built  to  suit, 
And  whether  you  prayed  or  whether  you  swore 
'  T  were   one   where  it  seemed  that   an   oath   was   a 

prayer— 

Seemed  God  couldn't  care, 
Seemed  God  wasn't  there  ! 

And  you,  too,  climbed  to  the  Klondike 

And  talked,  as  a  friend,  to  those  five-horned  stars  ! 

With  muckluck  shoon  and  with  talspike 

You,  too,  bared  head  to  the  bars, 

The  heaven-built  bars  where  morning  is  born, 

And  drank  with  maiden  morn 

From  Klondike' s  golden  horn  ! 

And  you,  too,  read  by  the  North  Lights 

Such  sermons  as  never  men  say  ! 

You  sat  and  sat  with  the  midnights 

That  sit  and  that  sit  all  day : 

You  heard  the  silence,  you  heard  the  room, 

Heard  the  glory  of  God  in  the  gloom 

When  the  icebergs  boom  and  boom  ! 

Then  come  to  my  Sunland,  my  soldier, 

Aye,  come  to  my  heart  and  to  stay  ; 

3?or  better  crusader  or  bolder 

Bared  never  a  breast  to  the  fray. 

And  whether  you  prayed  or  whether  you  cursed 

You  dared  the  best  and  you  dared  the  worst 

That  ever  brave  man  durst. 

dFrom  my  Journal,  Aug.  <5,  1897. 

Bravo  !  We  are  now  through  the  great  canyon  of 
the  upper  Yukon  and  below  the  fearful  White  Horse 
Palls.  Captain  McCormick,  in  charge  of  the  barge, 
has  shot  the  canyon  and  the  White  Horse  Falls,  of  the 
upper  Yukon  this  hour  without  loss  or  serious  dam 
age.  The  feat  is  the  most  remarkable  thing  that  has 
taken  place  in  the  history  of  this  country. 

The  White  Horse  Falls  has  been  the  terror  of  all 
travelers  on  this  river.  It  has  never  been  shot  with 
cargo,  crew  and  passengers  before.  It  is  a  truly  ter 
rible  place,  magnificently  terrible.  It  is  called  the 
slaughter  pen.  How  many  have  perished  here  no  one 
can  say,  as  these  cataracts  rarely  give  up  their  dead. 

90 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

This  is  one  of  the  portages,  and  all  boats  have  always 
stopped  at  the  head  of  the  canyon  and  falls  to  take 
out  effects,  leave  all  passengers  and  all  the  crew  that 
can  be  spared  or  who  do  not  care  to  take  the  chances, 
and  then  the  boats  are,  as  a  rule,  let  down  and  guided 
by  long,  heavy  cables.  x 

But  many  times  strangers  have  been  drawn  in  here 
and  made  to  take  the  shoot  whether  they  would  or 
not.  It  is  stated  on  good  authority  that  twenty- three 
men  have  perished  here  in  these  precipitous  waters, 
all  having  been  strangers  and  drawn  into  the  canyon 
before  knowing  their  peril.  Of  course  there  is  no 
such  danger  if  the  boat  is  emptied  and  the  usual  care 
taken.  But  so  great  is  the  danger  to  strangers  that 
the  Canadian  government  has  set  up  red  flags  all  along 
either  bank  for  more  than  a  mile  before  reaching  the 
canyon  and  falls,  and  just  at  the  entrance  to  the 
"  Slaughter  Pen  "  is  the  peremptory  order,  "  STOP  !  " 
We  may  all  have  to  answer  for  what  has  been  done, 
but  the  divine  audacity  and  the  glorious  sensation  of 
it  is  worth  almost  any  sentence  that  can  be  imposed. 
And  all  brute  courage,  do  you  say  ?  * '  Foolhardy 
excitement?"  Pardon  me,  nothing  of  the  sort. 
Never  yet  did  men  dare  death  for  a  higher  purpose  or 
a  nobler  cause.  There  are  thousands  on  their  way  to 
the  Klondike.  There  will  be  tens  of  thousands  on 
their  way  in  the  spring.  Are  there  supplies  in  the 
new  mines  ?  Will  men  suffer  if  not  informed  by  this 
hasty  and  swift  expedition  ?  And  will  tens  of  thou 
sands  sacrifice  their  small  fortunes  to  rush  to  a  false 
field  of  discovery  ?  We  were  sent  out  to  see  and  to 
say.  That  is  the  situation.  This  is  our  reason  for 
the  boldest  captain  and  the  best  crew  and  some  de 
voted  scribes  taking  their  lives  in  their  hands  and 
rushing  on  and  on  and  on.  To  have  stopped  and 
made  the  portage  would  have  taken  at  least  two 
days  to  carry  over  our  cargo  —  time  enough  to  lose  or 
win  a  Waterloo. 

Let  me  tell  you  of  our  wild  dash  right  here  on  the 
banks  of  this  regiment  of  wild  and  terrible  white 
horses,  for  it  is  from  their  resemblance  to  a  great 
band  of  plunging  white  battle  steeds  that  the  White 
Horse  Falls  take  their  name.  The  Canadian  officer 
waited  at  the  head  of  the  canyon  with  another  barge 
and  hailed  us  as  we  passed,  pointing  out  to  the  cap 
tain  the  point  to  land  and  unload,  for  the  portage. 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

"  I  am  going  right  through.  They  want  me  to  go 
through,  and  I  am  going." 

"What !  What !  You  !  — ,  and  then  I  heard,  as 
we  flew  on  over  the  little  whi^e  hills  that  were  grow 
ing  higher  and  bigger  at  each  bound,  the  first  real 
hard  swearing  I  have  met  with  in  this  expedition. 
I/oud  and  long  above  the  roar  of  the  canyon  and  falls 
that  dismayed  officer  called  as  he  came  running  down 
to  the  foaming  river  and  up  the  steep  bluff  that  looks 
down  into  the  foaming  white  canyon  in  its  narrow, 
perpendicular  basalt  walls.  And  as  he  ran  the  miners, 
boatmen,  other  government  officers  and  all  ran  after 
him,  leaving  their  boats  and  their  packs  and  stores 
and  all  to  take  care  of  themselves. 

Men  beckoned  to  us,  but  we  could  not  hear  their 
cries  above  the  roar  of  the  mad,  wild  waters.  Boom  ! 
Bang  !  We  were  literally  loaded  into  a  cannon,  shot 
in  and  down  and  out  as  though  out  of  a  gun  into  a 
very  hell  of  waters,  and  then  the  shout  that  went  up 
from  the  hill  top  with  the  tossing  arms  and  waving 
hats !  It  was  hearty,  heartful,  human.  A  wild, 
wild,  Western  shout  from  the  strong  Western  men, 
yet  a  shout  with  tears  in  it. 

But  the  regiment  of  unbridled  white  horses  still 
plunged  and  leaped  and  charged  in  our  narrow  way. 
Ten  thousand  gleaming  white  horses  —  these  must  be 
ridden  down  in  one  desperate  dash.  .There  was  no 
old  guard  to  follow  if  our  first  brave  charge  failed. 
We  must  ride  them  down  this  instant  or  be  ridden 
down.  The  special  expedition,  all  the  time  quietly 
planning  for  this  time-saving  venture,  had  the  day 
before  forgotten  to  take  down  the  American  flag,  al 
though  on  British  soil,  and  with  all  respect  to  the 
honest  Britons.  And  never  flew  flag  so  gloriously  — 
indeed  sublimely  beautiful.  It  is  the  only  American 
flag  seen  along  the  upper  Yukon,  although  we  are 
never  out  of  sight  of  boats. 

And  now,  as  we  paused  a  second  on  the  waves  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  canyon,  ready  for  the  final  and 
more  desperate  charge,  the  excited  people  above  us 
suddenly  caught  sight  of  "Old  Glory,"  and  such  a 
shout  —  and  then  they  broke  forth  in  a  tempest  of 
cheers  and  song,  Canadians  and  all,  in  which  the 
' '  American  Flag, "  "  Dixie, "  "  Marching  Through 
Georgia,"  and  "John  Brown"  were  heard  ;  anything 

92 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

to  give  vent  to  the  pent-up  hearts  as  we  rode  the  mad 
charge  into  the  flying  white  battle  horses. 

They  smote  us  right  in  the  breast  till  the  waters 
plunged  ten  feet  in  the  air  and  drenched  even  the  cap 
tain  away  back  at  the  helm.  The  oarsmen  were 
knocked  down,  but  again  they  grasped  their  oars  and 
again  we  plunged  on  and  again  they  were  knocked 
down  and  the  boat  was  sent  reeling  to  the  right.  And 
then  from  our  rear  the  rushing  cateract  came  and  we 
spun  almost  like  a  top,  drifting  and  tossing  as  if  from 
one  white  horse  to  another  as  a  toy.  The  captain  now 
guided  his  boat  from  the  bow. 

Again  the  barge  was  knocked  around  and  whirled 
about  in  the  white  sea  of  white  horses  until  the  cap 
tain  once  more  stood  in  the  stern.  Of  course  there 
was  wild  excitement  with  us  —  some  of  us  —  and 
there  were  oaths  from  the  grand  old  captain,  for  his 
boatmen  did  not  understand  the  nautical  terms  of  the 
old  sea-dog  and  Alaska  steamer  captain  ;  and  so  con 
fusion  followed  and  the  oaths  often  came  like  a  thun 
derstorm. 

That  is,  in  brief,  the  story  of  the  most  daring  enter 
prise  in  which  I  ever  took  part ;  and  I  am  no  child  in 
either  years  or  adventure.  Our  crew  and  passengers  are 
all  Americans.  One  is  an  old  Yankee  soldier  of 
the  Civil  War.  Two  are  from  Illinois,  and  are 
father  and  son,  the  boy  but  fifteen.  It  makes  me 
proud  to  be  an  American  when  I  find  such  courage 
and  cool  heads  in  a  lot  of  men  from  far  apart,  who 
were  strangers  but  yesterday,  and  who  are  entirely,  as 
a  rule,  untrained  to  handling  water  craft.  Captain 
McCormick  was  born  and  reared  on  the  shores  of  Lake 
Erie.  He  is  tall,  strong,  and  has  a  voice  like  a  lion. 
But  we  did  not  know  he  had  such  a  voice  till  we  were 
in  the  whirlpool  and  the  foaming  canyon,  and  had 
charged  into  the  camp  of  wild  white  battle  horses. 

We  have  no  official  survey  of  the  canyon  and  falls 
as  yet,  but  the  canyon  is  simrjly  a  white  sea  of  foam 
in  a  cleft  of  black  basalt,  and  it  is  said  to  be,  by  moun 
taineers  and  boatmen,  eighty  feet  wide  and  three- 
fourths  of  a  mile  long.  Some  idea  of  its  velocity  may 
be  had  from  the  fact  that  the  parties  on  the  bluff 
above,  who  were  waiting  to  get  their  own  boats 
through,  and  hence  were  deeply  interested,  held  their 
watches  on  us  from  start  to  finish,  and  found  that  we 

93 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

made  the  plunge  and  pass  in  one  minute  forty-five 
seconds.  The  canyon  and  falls  together  make  up  a 
dash  of  two  and  a  half  miles.  The  falls  are  counted 
the  more  perilous  because  of  the  hidden  rocks.  While 
I  have  been  writing  this,  two  more  large  boats,  not 
loaded,  have  come  through. 

Oh  for  England's  old-time  thunder  ! 
Oh  for  England's  bold  sea-men, 
When  we  banged  her  over,  under, 
And  she  banged  us  back  again  ! 

eAug.  7.  — We  tented  in  an  aspen  park,  a  world  of 
waters  before  us  and  behind  us,  and  almost  entirely 
around  us,  for  the  river  debouching  into  the  lake  is 
many  miles  wide.  Our  beautiful  camp,  at  the  head 
of  beautiful  Lake  La  Barge  with  its  one  island,  was 
also  in  a  graveyard.  Here  we  were  not  troubled  by 
mosquitoes ;  they  seem  not  to  like  the  quaking  and 
restless  aspen  leaves.  I  learn  that  they  are  not  found 
in  these  sweet  groves,  as  a  rule.  A  dolorous  loon 
kept  diving  and  disappearing  between  his  melancholy 
cries  as  some  men  with  Winchesters  took  turns  at  try 
ing  to  hit  the  red  crown  that  blossomed  from  his 
black  head.  And  then  a  great  white  owl,  as  white 
as  his  melancholy  companion  was  black,  and  as 
mournful  as  any  board  in  the  grass  at  the  head  of  a 
grave,  came  out  to  see  with  his  great  big  eyes,  if  he 
could  see  in  the  golden  twilight,  what  the  men- were 
shooting  at.  I  expected  the  men  to  turn  loose  on  the 
owl  with  a  will.  They  did  not.  Quietly  they  sat 
waiting  for  the  loon  to  come  back.  Quietly  they  sud 
denly  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  steep  bluff  by  the 
graves.  Quietly  they  sat  there  with  their  guns  in 
their  laps  across  their  knees.  The  loon  came  back  at 
last,  close  by,  too,  but  they  did  not  lift  a  hand  nor  say 
.a  word. 

The  fact  is,  they  had  suddenly  seen  something  else  : 
a  white,  white  face  upturned  to  the  great  white  moon 
from  without  the  swirling  water  ;  then  another  white 
face,  then  another,  swirling  and  sweeping  around  and 
around  and  around. 

They  sat  there  in  the  golden,  awe-inspiring  Arctic 
twilight,  silent,  a  loon  in  the  water,  with  his  crimson 
crown  at  their  feet,  a  snow-white  owl  as  big  as  a  pil 
low  at  their  side,  the  six  dead  men  in  their  graves 
under  the  grass  there,  and  none  could  say  which  of  all 

94 


AS   IT  WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

was  the  most  silent  —  the  dead  men  under  the  grass, 
the  great  owl  out  of  the  aspen  grove  at  their  side,  the 
crimson-crowned  loon  at  their  feet  or  the  armed  ar 
gonauts  with  their  rifles  lying  across  their  laps,  with 
their  weary  feet  dipping  to  the  dark,  still  waters. 

Then  the  loon  cried  again  and  was  gone,  the  owl 
lifted  like  a  little  white  cloud  back  into  the  aspen 
trees  and  the  men  melted  away  one  by  one  in  silence 
to  their  tents. 

'  T  is  a  land  so  far  through  the  dead,  white  weather 
That  the  sun  falls  weary  and  flushed  and  red  : 

'  T  is  a  land  so  far  that  you  wonder  whether 
If  God  would  know  it  should  you  fall  dead ; 
That  the  sea  and  sky  seem  coming  together, 
Seem  closing  together  as  a  book  that  is  read. 

1 1  named  the  great  stars  that  seemed  to  perch  on 
the  peaks  and  steeps  close  at  either  hand  as  we  as 
cended  the  ice  floor  of  the  Yukon,  " Cathedral  stars" 
simply  because  they  looked  it  at  the  time,  although 
Ordinarily  they  seemed  to  be  normal  stars,  except  that 
ihey  were  incredibly  large  and  their  five  horns  far 
brighter  than  rays  of  the  sun.  But  when  a  seam  or 
stream  of  flame  would  burst  from  the  edge  of  the 
riWer's  bed  and  suddenly  take  possession,  for  a  few 
seconds,  of  heaven  and  earth,  they  would  flare  up  like 
things  of  life,  their  five  horns  of  gold  pointing  straight 
ujj>  like  cathedral  spires.  Then  as  suddenly  all  would 
bei  black,  umber,  amber,  cobalt,  and  the  great,  glit- 
telfing  stars  again  would  be  normal.  I  had,  to  my 
dismay,  as  a  hired  scribe  when  trying  to  get  from 
Klondike  to  the  Bering  sea  by  way  of  the  Yukon  — 
1 89^  —  found  the  river  closed  at  the  edge  of  the  Arctic 
circle.  It  was  nearly  two  thousand  miles  to  the  sea, 
all  ice  and  snow,  with  not  so  much  as  a  dog-track 
before  me  and  only  midnight  'round  about  me.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  try  to  get  back  to  my^cabin 
on  the  Klondike.  In  the  line  of  my  employment  I 
kept  a  journal  of  the  solitary  seventy-two  days  and 
nighty —  mostly  night  —  spent  in  the  silent  and  ter 
rible  Ascent  of  the  savage  sea  of  ice.  But  enough  ;  a 
tithe  ofr  the  scenes,  the  colors,  the  unnatural  phenom 
ena  in  'these  lines  would  be  Weary  work  and  dreary 
reading^  Nor  have  I  time  or  disposition,  even  in  this 
note,  ta  explain,  urge  or  argue.  I  have  resorted  to 
this  forpi  of  expression  only  to  give  a  few  facts  in  a 

95 


t 

AS   IT   WAS    IN   THE    BEGINNING 


matter  of  which  I  was  forced  to  see  much,  and  should 
know  a  little  something  worth  noting. 

Briefly,  then,  "The  Borealis  race,"  as  seen  even  by 
Burns  in  vScotland,  is  a  substance.  It  is  not  only  vis 
ible  and  varied,  but  it  is  tangible  and  subject  to  the 
law  of  gravitation,  although  a  certain  sort  of  elec 
tricity.  It  is  born  of  friction  ;  yet  it  is  as  cold  as  the 
electric  force  which  we  have  harnessed  is  hot ;  and  I 
believe  that  a  full  charge  of  it,  when  suddenly  burst 
ing  from  a  rent  or  fissure  in  the  ice,  is  deadly  ;  else 
why  do  the  dogs  fall  down  and  whine  when  they  hear 
and  see  it  shoot  up  too  near  at  hand  ? 

I  can  no  more  account  for  the  manifold  colors  than 
I  can  for  the  little  gathering  of  cardinal  hues  when 
you  smite  the  transparent  ice  covering  a  lake  or  river. 
I  can  only  say  that  it  would  take  the  keen  eyes  of  a 
Lyons  silk-weaver  to  distinguish  and  name  the  colors 
that  burst  up  through  the  ice  from  the  groaning,  grind 
ing  waters  of  the  Yukon  ;  but  the  prevailing  color  is 
positive  ;  that  is,  red,  yellow,  saffron,  crimson  and  so 
on.  And  these  seem  most  forceful  if  they  do  not 
burst  forth  at  an  angle  and  collide  and  carrom  and 
burnish  the  walls  'round  about.  They  seem  to  in 
fluence  the  stars,  as  they  leap  up,  up  and  up.  But 
the  colder  colors  seem  more  slow  and  heavy.  I  once 
saw  a  slanting,  steel-colored  column  break  overhead 
and  fall  to  pieces  right  in  my  path.  It  lay  like  a  dull, 
mobile  smoke  on  the  snow  for  some  seconds.  As  the 
dogs  sat  down  and  whined,  I  jerked  off  a  glove  and 
tried  to  take  some  of  it  in  my  hand.  I  may  have  fan 
cied  it,  but  it  seemed  to  sting  and  tingle  like  a  little 
battery  ;  and  it  surely  was  as  cold  as  death. 

I  spent  some  time  with  the  Bishop  of  Selkirk,  on 
Mission  Island,  trying  to  get  some  light  on  all  this, 
for  he  had  been  hereabouts  for  near  thirty  years  ;  but 
the  good  man  seemed  to  depend  on  what  he  had  read, 
rather  than  what  he  had  seen,  contenting  himself 
with  admiring  the  works  of  God  and  the  glory  of  it  all. 
He  gave7  me  his  London  book,  ".The  Bible  Under 
the  Northern  Lights, ' '  from  which  I  have  pilfered 
generously. 

When  I  told  him  that  I  had  come  to  a  positive  con 
clusion  on  the  points  set  down,  he  said  :  * '  Well, 
maybe  it  all  comes  from  friction,  but  you  must  know 
that  the  same  phenomena  is  seen  at  Great  Slave  Lake, 

96 


AS   IT   WAS   IN   THE   BEGINNING 

as  well  as  on  the  seas  of  northern  Greenland.     No,  it 
is  as  well  to  say  that  it  is  all  the  glory  of -God." 

I  can  only  answer  that  the  ice  is  groaning  and  grind 
ing  in  the  rise  and  fall  of  tides  around  Greenland  and 
like  seabanks  to  the  north,  quite  as  well  as  along  the 
Yukon,  only  there  the  forces  are  not  confined,  and  so 
appear  only  in  the  heavens  in  variable  bodies,  in 
stead  of  in  sudden  bursts  and  shafts,  as  here.  But  it 
is  not  so  easy  to  account  for  the  Lights  on  Great 
Slave  Lake.  I  must  leave  the  phenomena  there  for 
those  who  care  to  look  further. 

s  ' l  Home  is  the  hunter 

Home  from  the  hills, 

Home  is  the  sailor 

Home  from  the  sea." 

Nothing  proves  more  entirely  to  me  the  patent  of 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson  to  immortality,  than  his  love 
of  Samoa,  and  his  selection  of  this  magnificent  isolation 
for  his  final  home.  As  Napoleon  will  forever  be  Km- 
peror  of  Saint  Helena,  so  will  Stevenson  be  Lord  of 
Samoa  to  the  end. 

Far,  far  away  such  cradled  Isles 
As  Jason  dreamed  and  Argos  sought 
Surge  up  from  endless  watery  miles  ! 
And  thou,  the  pale  high  priest  of  thought, 
The  everlasting  high  throned  king 
Of  fair  Samoa  !     Shall  I  bring 
Sweet  sandal- wood  ?     Or  shall  I  lay 
Rich  wreaths  of  California's  bay 
From  sobbing  maidens  ?     Stevenson, 
Sleep  well.     Thy  work  is  done  ;  well  done  ! 
So  bravely,  bravely  done  ! 

h  The  best  hearted  and  most  entirely  just  and  gen 
erous  people  I  ever  lived  amongst  are,  or  rather  were 
the  Hawaiians,  for  they  are  fast  passing  to  the  beyond. 

Our  treatment  of  this  dusky  race,  is  one  of  the 
crimes  of  the  past  century. 

Fair  land  of  flowers,  land  of  flame, 
Of  sun-born  seas,  of  sea-born  clime, 
Of  clouds  low  shepherded  and  tame 
As  white  pet  sheep  at  shearing  time, 
Of  great,  white,  generous  high-born  rain, 
Of  rainbows  builded  not  in  vain  — 
Of  rainbows  builded  for  the  feet 
Of  love  to  pass  dry-shod  and  fleet 
From  isle  to  isle,  when  smell  of  musk 
'  Mid  twilight  is,  and  one  lone  star 
Sits  in  the  brow  of  dusk. 

97 


AS  IT  WAS  IN  THE  BEGINNING 

Oh,  dying,  sad-voiced,  sea-born  maid  ! 
And  plundered,  dying,  still  sing  on. 
Thy  breast  against  the  thorn  is  laid — 
Sing  on,  sing  on,  sweet  dying  swan. 
How  pitiful !     And  so  despoiled 
By  those  you  fed,  for  whom  you  toiled  ! 
Aloha  !     Hail  you,  and  farewell, 
Far  echo  of  some  lost  sea-shell  ! 
Some  song  that  lost  its  way  at  sea, 
Some  sea-lost  notes  of  nature,  lost, 
That  crying,  came  to  me. 

Dusk  maid  adieu  !     One  sea-shell  less  ! 

Sad  sea-shell  silenced  and  forgot. 

O  Rachel  in  the  wilderness, 

Wail  on  !     Your  children  they  are  not. 

And  they  who  took  them,  they  who  laid 

Hard  hand,  shall  they  not  feel  afraid  ? 

Shall  they  who  in  the  name  of  God 

Robbed  and  enslaved,  escape  His  rod]? 

Give  me  some  after-world  afar 

From  these  hard  men,  for  well  I  know 

Hell  must  be  where  they  are. 

***** 
1  Ye  Cyprians  of  fashion,  ye  whited,  cursed  mothers  ! 
Yea,  as  the  Christ  cursed  the  barren  fig  tree, 
With  your  one  sickly  branch  where  a  dozen  should  be — 
It  were  better  ye  never  were  born  to  be  mothers, 
Or,  millstone  at  neck,  ye  be  cast  in  the  sea.      ' 
Ye  are  dried,  wrinkled  peppers  in  a  dried-up  pod, 
Ye  are  hated  of  men  and  abhorred  of  God ! 

Oh  give  me  good  mothers  !   Yea,  great,  glad  mothers, 
Proud  mothers  of  dozens,  indeed,  twice  ten ; 
Fair  mothers  of  daughters  and  mothers  of  men, 
With  old-time  clusters  of  sisters  and  brothers, 
When  grand  Greeks  lived  like  to  gods,  and  when 
Brave  mothers  of  men,  strong- breasted  and  broad, 
Did  exult  in  fulfilling  the  purpose  of  God. 

Yea,  give  me  grand  mothers,  old  world  mothers, 

Who  peopled  strong,  lusty,  loved  Germany, 

Till  she  pushed  the  Frank  from  the  Rhine  to  the  sea. 

Yea,  give  me  mothers  to  love,  and  none  others ; 

Blessed,  beautiful  mothers  of  men  for  me, 

For  they,  they  have  loved  in  the  brave  old  way, 

And  for  this  all  honor  for  aye  and  a  day. 

Oh  ye  of  the  West,  ye  ultimate  mothers, 
Ye  firmest  of  foot  and  most  mighty  of  hand, 
Dominion  is  yours,  through  the  whole  wide  land, 
To  the  end  of  the  world.    For  who  but  your  brothers, 
And  men  of  your  breasts  led  the  Pioneer  band, 
Led  west  to  the  sea  ?     Who  hewed  the  red  way  ? 
Yea,  who  are  the  captains  that  lead  us  today  ? 

— From  "  The  Baroness  of  New  York"  London  and  New 
York  City,  1877,  Pages  136-7. 


AS    IT   WAS   IN   THE    BEGINNING 

A  PREFATORY  POSTSCRIPT. 

When,  like  a  sentinel  on  his  watch  tower,  the 
President,  with  his  divine  audacity  and  San  Juan 
valor,  voiced  the  real  heart  of  the  Americans  against 
"  race  suicide,"  I  hastened  to  do  my  part,  in  my  own 
way,  ill  or  well,  in  holding  up  his  hands  on  the  firing 
line.  For  I  had  wrought  here  and  fought  here  while 
he  was  still  in  school.  '  See  note !  on  page  98?  But 
I  was  alone  then,  and  as  the  stork  had  not  so  notably 
disappeared  from  the  homes  of  those  best  able  to  wel 
come  and  entertain  him,  my  book  was  no  more  wel 
come  to  them  then,  than  the  stork  is  now. 

However,  I  venture  this  new  book  with  confidence, 
not  only  because  it  is  right,  proper,  clean,  courageous, 
but  now  seems  opportune.  "  L,et  the  galled  jade 
wince !  "  I  give  no  quarter  and  ask  none,  except 
pardon  for  errors  incident  to  great  haste.  I  cry  aloud 
from  my  mountain  top,  as  a  seer,  and  say  :  The  cherry 
blossom  bird  of  Nippon  must  be  more  with  us,  else 
another  century  and  prolific  Canada,  like  another 
Germany  from  the  north,  may  descend  upon  us  and 
take  back  train  loads  of  tribute.  We  are  coming  to 
be  too  entirely  Frenchish. 


A   NEW  ILLUSTRATED  EDITION  OF 

The  Complete  Poetical  Works 

OF  JOAQUIN   MILLER. 


This  is  the  only  Authorized  Edition  of  his  Poems 


Library  Edition  Price  $2.50 

Gift  Edition  ^  Levant  -     Price    4.50 

Author's  Autograph  Edition      -  Price    7.50 

(Full  Leather)  / 

ORDER  DIRECT  FROM  THE  PUBLISHERS 

THE  WHITAKER  &  RAY  COMPANY, 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CALIFORNIA. 


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